Dark Respite
by Omagic
Summary: A Noir story of HP ass kickery cooked to perfection and served over a savory blend of snarky humor. Before sending Harry to the afterlife, Voldemort told him he'd write the book on worse things than death with him. Harry's back to write the epilogue.
1. Dark Respite

**Author's notes:** What to say? Let me be candid from the get and put out there that if you've found your way to this story on account of Fire of Life (my shamefully abandoned first attempt at fanfiction), thanks, but you shouldn't expect anything like that. In fact let's say that was my Jim Henson Muppets, family friendly version of a Harry Potter fanfiction. What I've got here in Dark Respite is much closer to my Frank Miller Sin City, wait till the kids are in bed version of a Harry Potter fanfiction – as evidenced by the mature rating.

Inevitably some will be offended by the violence and foul language, and while I don't apologize for this I certainly understand. Hell, I'll even look forward to whatever criticisms such offended folk might care to offer.

I am, after all, an admitted feedback whore!

Updates should come at about a chapter per week basis. Thanks go to Lisa725 for her exquisite beta skills.

**Chapter 1 – Dark Respite**

_It's a trap, and I know it. But it's kind of like drinking a mouthful of spoiled milk. You can smell trouble beforehand, yet you still manage to take a swig. Well, it smells like stewed ass in here, so I guess I've got no room for complaints._

Voldemort's new digs are the standard Death Eater affair: dark, damp, and dreary — the three "d's" of dungeon design. I hear them coming for me up ahead, boots on a stone floor. You'd think these guys had never heard of trainers.

The first Death Eater around the corner is so surprised to see me he just freezes. His bad. **"Extraho Pectus!**" Silly arse watches his heart fall off the top of his boots before he has the good sense to fall down. From the look on his face I'd say the sight really got his blood pumping, if the pump weren't a stain on the floor. The next two go just as easily, and so will the rest. It helps when they know, and you know, and they know you know that they can't kill you; it's a fringe benefit of being almost immortal.

Only Voldemort can kill me — and I him. Today is the day that we get our opportunity to try. Tom said he'd write the book on "worse things then death" with me. It was a fine novel; I'm here to write the epilogue.

But this is the end of the story, and there's no reward without some work. Trust me, I'm an expert in the field. So cue the third person narrative, and let's spy in on the Dursley household one last time. Poor bastards. May they rest in peace.

XXX

The drive home had been surprisingly quiet. McGonagall had seen to it that the Dursleys were there to pick Harry up at Kings Cross. Whether or not the newly instated Headmistress had done so to ensure the blood magic one last time, if she even knew about the blood magic, or because she just didn't know what else to do, Harry didn't care. All that mattered was getting through this inconvenience for last time and finally ridding himself of Privet Drive, its hand-me-downs, insipid residents, and that bloody closet under the stairwell. There was no way for him to know exactly how long it took for the magic to renew, but seeing as how Dumbledore had taken him from the Dursleys after only four days the summer previous, Harry saw no reason to stay a moment longer. As far as he was concerned, it would be four days to prepare for the rest of the unknown life that lay ahead.

At the least, Harry figured he owed the Weasleys a stop in before beginning his search for the remaining Horcruxes. Besides, he'd be willing to wager more than a few quids his surrogate family would enlist a Ministry-wide manhunt should he off and disappear without a word; that was the last thing he needed. After the Burrow, well, the plan grew a bit hazier. Despite he and Dumbledore's multiple forays into the History of all things Riddle, the fieldtrips had provided very little in the way of direction. That was, of course, the tremendous shortcoming of the old man's cryptic teaching style. Knowledge earned through guided discoveries was well and all, but now that his guide had taken a lifeless dive off the Astronomy Tower Harry was about as well off as a pig on a mountain.

"Bring your freeloadin' arse down here at once, Potter!"

Where would life be without the constants? The sun rises, the Chudley Canons never win, and Dursleys will always be wankers — particularly any of the Vernon persuasion.

Harry intentionally took his time descending the stairs. With any luck, he'd get a peek at that infamous forehead vein. It wasn't till he rounded the bottom step that a familiar cold chill made its way up the back of his neck. The sort of tingle that had never been wrong before, and usually meant a trip to the hospital wing would soon be in order. He brought the tip of his wand to his fingertips, concealing the rest along his forearm.

"Sweet Nancy, I haven't got all day? Move along! One of those _freaks_ is here for you." Vernon moaned. Indeed the vein was threatening to evict itself from the fat man's forehead.

"Rubbish, Potter. Take your time. I'd rather savior this moment."

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't draw his eyes from the large, hooked nose and greasy hair for him to notice.

"I thought I smelled something dead," Harry said.

"Hmm…or perhaps fear is confusing your senses," Snape replied coolly. "Let's say we have a look?"

Harry had his wand forward in an instant, but Snape's self-satisfied smirk made him pause with the curse still on his lips.

"I could always count on your predictability. Now would I really go and perform magic in front of a Muggle? Why, that would be in violation of Ministry law."

"And here I thought that one of us had gone off and murdered someone. It must be the law-abiding side of your two faces here today," Harry said, seething.

"You put that foul thing away in my house!" The vein made its presence known. A flash of red, a painful looking fall through the setting table, and just that quickly the vein departed. There was a moment's pause while Harry took in what Snape had done. They exchanged a glare — well, Harry glared and Snape smirked. As soon as realization set in Harry lunged wildly toward Snape. Though his wand was still in hand, the desire to grasp that greasy neck overwhelmed logical thought. There was a purple flash of light at the moment he felt the object of his desire. The next thing he saw was the Dursley's ceiling, until everything went black.

"Then again, maybe we're not so concerned with the law after all, eh, Potter."

XXX

The light of consciousness returned slowly and was met quickly by a wrenching pain in the forehead.

"Harry Potter, a year has passed since our last encounter. Circumstances aside, it appears time has treated you well."

"Wish I could say the same, Tom. You still look like shit run over," Harry said from the floor.

The smug look on Voldemort's pale face flickered for a moment. "Perhaps your fall rattled that frail mind more than you realize young Potter. One should take stock of their situation before slighting their captor. Maybe a query to your Muggle family will assist you."

Voldemort turned and crossed the room as Harry forced himself to sit up. On the couch the three Dursleys sat unmoving — frozen even — though their eyes gaped open with shock. Harry shuffled to bring himself to his feet but was met with a hard boot to the head, rightly returning the Dursley ceiling to view.

"Don't get antsy, Potter. Your turn will come soon enough."

Harry's sight blurred as his eyes filled with water. Still he attempted to follow the leg of the boot that now rested on his chest up to the face of his attacker. The indistinct figure leaned over to bring his face right in front of Harry's.

"No matter how many times I do that, it's never any less satisfying," Draco Malfoy said with a sneer.

"Draco, don't get too overzealous. Potter must remain conscious for the time being," Snape drawled as he too came into Harry's line of sight.

They must give out smug looks as a door prize in Slytherin, because they were coming in surplus today. Harry didn't even have to look over to Voldemort to know the third in a matching set was etched onto his face. The thought made Harry's blood boil at a rate to match the pain in his scar. Yet as far as he could tell, he was powerless to do anything about it.

Unable to sit up with Malfoy's boot still in his chest, he could only turn his head and watch from floor as Voldemort took a seat on the couch next to the three Dursley-pops. The shift in the seat cushion caused Dudley's portly body to fall stiffly onto the floor. The look on his face didn't change: His eyes were still wide open and staring directly at Harry.

"Ah, it appears we have a volunteer," Voldemort said, almost with a coo.

It took every bit of will for Harry to tear his sight away from his cousin's empty face and look up to Voldemort. As if out of thin air thirteen and a half inches of Yew wood presented itself, "_Imperio_." Voldemort stared at his new puppet, conveying an unspoken command. Just like that Dudley's body animated, and he rose to his feet; yet his face still remained unchanged.

"We could go through all the pomp and circumstance of making you select who dies first, Potter. But then we have to put up with all the, _I won't choose, you can't make me_. Of course I'd then be obligated to prove that I could indeed _make you_. Which, requisitely, is followed by you cursing me and mine to the sorts of, _I'll get you even if I die trying_." Voldemort made a show of exhaling. "Really who has the time or desire for it all? No I think we'll just kill your family, let you watch, and then get around to finishing the last thing this worthless world might believe could stand in my way — no matter how ridiculous that really is."

Voldemort's face hardened, and Harry saw his thin lips move. It's hard to imagine such a high screeching voice speaking words that seemed to hang in the air forever; nonetheless, it was in just that fashion Harry's mind registered the Dark Lord's command: "Kill your family, Muggle." And he watched as Dudley, without hesitation, walked over to Vernon and Petunia and snapped both their necks.

Harry waited for a response to stir in him, for the visceral pain to strike him down. But all he could think on was _why that way_, why break their necks? Had it been Voldemort's will, unspoken yet demanded through the curse? Or was it Dudley's own creation, the first manner that came to his fat cousin's mind to fulfill his putrid task. Harry looked at Dudley. The boy's face vacant but for a solitary tear that fell down his cheek.

Voldemort watched unflinchingly as Harry battled with his thoughts. He waited for the emotional break to come, as it always did. But not this time. Eventually, Harry's stare turned to the Dark Lord, and it matched the cold, hate-filled glare that Voldemort's red eyes set upon the boy. Voldemort smiled.

"Severus."

"Yes, my lord."

"Kill the spare."

Harry's heart erupted. Emotions filled him at such a rate that his body and mind couldn't compensate, and for a moment he felt consciousness slip away. Eventually, the explosion formed to a steady pound in his head. The pound of one dominating, sharp sentiment. He wouldn't watch Dudley be murdered, for damn sure not like this.

As soon as Snape turned to Dudley, Harry knew he had to move. Channeling every bit of hate that consumed him he kicked up at Draco and struck a blow that gave reason to doubt for the future proliferation of the Malfoy bloodline.

_One Slytherin down, two to go. _

Unfortunately, he only got that far on his checklist. Snape's spell struck Dudley dead just as Harry's fist landed against the traitor's face. It was then that Harry heard several very loud cracks, though each seemed to come from inside his head rather than out. He realized the broken bones were his own when he found himself flying through the air, struck soundly by Voldemort's curse. The blow had broken two ribs on his right side, and he knew that he'd have a matching set on his left as soon as he arrived at his appointment with the approaching wall.

There it was again, a nice view of the Dursley's ceiling.

At least Malfoy obliged him with a howling yelp of pain that he couldn't quite muster on his own. It was hard enough to breathe with broken ribs much less verbalize the pain. He did manage to cough up a nice gob of blood though.

"Your petulance never ceases to astound me Potter." Voldemort smirked. "It's such a pleasant change of pace from Dumbledore's incessant chattering. A shame really; such disposition would be prize amongst my followers."

Another spurt of blood spewed from Harry's mouth and caused him to choke. It was all he could manage not to pass out from the painful coughing fit that resulted. At least he could still hear Malfoy crying openly in the background, it was enough incentive to keep conscious.

"Well, I believe we've overextended our welcome, Severus. To be honest, the residents here are horrible hosts. What say you? Shall we relieve Harry of their crude accord?

"Yes my Lord, quite gracious of you." Snape's muffled reply came through the hand nursing his jaw.

Harry watched through bleary eyes as Voldemort's sallow figure came to stand over him. The red eyes of his nemesis glared at him. The smug look of victory gone, replaced with hateful intent.

Voldemort raised his wand once more, though Harry never heard the words — everything went black.

XXX

The body was first in queue to report with Harry's mind as he slowly came to. Suffice it to say his body wasn't recommending another ride on the Voldecoaster any time soon. In fact after that report, if he'd had a choice in the matter Harry would have been quite happy to black out again. However, body report complete and off to play xylophone with his broken ribs, the rest of his senses wanted their equal parts.

It only took him a moment to figure out he was lying on his back again. At first thought, he was happy to notice it wasn't the Dursley's ceiling that occupied his vista. But as his sight registered its own report, he realized the new view wasn't a change for the better.

The ceiling that currently occupied his view was dark and damp and made of stone — your typical dungeon-ess type of view. So it wasn't a surprise when Harry turned his head to see the stone architecture also comprised the walls and floor. He was apparently in the dungeons of some sort of castle — that is if Hogwarts' dungeons were to be considered an accurate template for how such things were. Of course the floor he was uncomfortably set on was cold…and wet. His nose was happy to report that the obligatory smell of mildew fragranced the air.

Harry rolled over and foced himself to stand, despite his body's ardent complaints. It was then he found himself the center of attention. _Somebody cue the spotlight_, he thought.

"Good evening, Potter. I do hope you had a pleasant nap."

"Yeah, _Riddle_, I'm feeling quite refreshed, thank you." Harry noticed his voice had a sick wheeze to it. "On to sherry and giggles now, I'm sure." A mouthful of blood allowed him the opportunity to spit a nice exclamation to his slight.

Voldemort's face hardened. "I will enjoy watching your demise, if only to see that insolent spirit broken."

"No worries, Tom. Even if you already know I'm going to say it, I _am_ going to kill you and every last one of your Death Eaters. Until then, you'll just have to put up with my insolence."

"Indeed, seeing how you're in just the position to do so. We are all right here after all." Voldemort motioned around him. Fuck all, if there wasn't every last Death Eater present. "But alas, don't you just love the old man's interjections…there are worse things than death, Harry." Voldemort smiled wickedly.

At the mention of Dumbledore, Harry's eyes immediately searched out and found Snape. The arse wasn't ashamed to provide a smug look of pride for the recognition either. Harry didn't look away from Snape as he addressed Voldemort.

"You're right, Tom. You could be a spineless coward all your life. Alone. Hated by everyone you've ever respected and a puppet for whoever was left to have you." Like bleach to a stain, that wiped the smile clean off of Snape's face.

Voldemort witnessed the interaction and smiled again. "You could have made a great Death Eater indeed, Potter. If only I hadn't killed both your parents, your aunt and uncle, your cousin…did I miss anyone?" He wasn't a bastard for nothing. "Oh yes, the old fool. Well I didn't really kill him, but somehow I don't think the semantics will matter much to you."

"Shut your mouth you son of bitch!" Harry threw composure to the wind. "Having your do boy kill him only proves you knew you could never be as great a wizard as he was!"

"Great wizard? Great! If that weren't such an ignorant statement, I'd think it a joke! Dumbledore was a fool! The fact you, of all people, cannot recognize it only proves you're an idiot!" Voldemort snapped.

As Harry opened his mouth to respond, he was flung against the wall violently by the swish of Voldemort's wand. Instead of words, his mouth eschewed a coppery, acidic mixture of blood and vomit. Through bleary eyes Harry watched the as the Dark Lord glided across the dungeon to him. Voldemort pinned the boy to the wall and held himself so near that Harry could feel the monster's cold skin beneath his robes. He smelled like spoiled meat, and it took all Harry had to contain his heightened urge to retch.

"A fool at best, Potter. But just between you and me, I think he was senile, doddering, and feeble-minded," Voldemort said, breathing into Harry's ear. "." He pulled his head back so that Harry could see his face. "You know, a few wizarding cards short of a full deck; three Bertie Bot's short of every flavor." Voldemort circled his finger at his temple as he released Harry and stepped away. "Simply put, Dumbledore _was_ a fool," Voldemort announced. "Only that could explain the utter fallibility of his last years. Senescence must be the only plausible excuse for the insult he became as an adversary. The great Dumbledore, hah. I would have dispatched of him sooner had I not overestimated his abilities. In the end, all it took was a child."

Harry fell to the damp stone, gasping at air that felt like lava in his chest. "He knew what Malfoy was doing. Dumbledore's only mistake was hoping for an ounce of humanity in that bastard. It was the same mistake he made with you as well." Harry wheezed.

"Is that supposed to be an explanation? Your worthless attempt to defend that old man is as distasteful as his meager existence. It is because of Dumbledore that you were eleven years behind the rest of your peers. Because of Dumbledore, you had to live with those filthy Muggles – and make no pretense that you held an opinion of them to the contrary. Because of Dumbledore, the truth of your connection to me was held from you until two years past. And because of Dumbledore, you find yourself here now, exposed, unprotected, and incapable of defending yourself on the eve of your demise. If I were capable, Potter, I would pity you."

"None of this is his fault. This is your doing and none other!" Yet as the implications of Snape's treachery sunk in from what Voldemort had revealed, Harry couldn't help but doubt his own words. "This is your fault, _Riddle_, from the very first of it!" Harry confirmed.

"Well I have been a busy little bee," Voldemort chided. "But all this babble about decrepit old men and finger pointing bores me. We both know in the end all that matters _is_ that Dumbledore is dead, and Potter "the savior" is on to worse things. Curse connections; blood protection, which incidentally doesn't do you much good as it was your own blood that helped resurrect me; the lot of it — all rubbish now. _The Prophecy_, now therein lays the reason for the breath left in your broken body." Voldemort steepled his fingers in front of his face and cocked his head slightly to the side. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Harry, or shall we do this the hard way?"

Harry raised his head and summoned the most hateful glare he could manage. "You were born a bastard, one whose whore mother had to poison a Muggle to get him to bed her, the same mother who then left you alone and unwanted. _I _would pity _you_, if you weren't such a sick fuck!" Harry happily spat another mouthful of blood at Voldemort. "I think that covers it."

Voldemort's entire body went rigid, and his eyes narrowed so tightly that they almost seemed to shut. It was the exaggerated wave of his wand that proved otherwise. "_Legilimens_!" Voldemort hissed loudly.

The spell hit Harry like a freight train, and instantly he felt Voldemort's presence flooding in through his scar. There was no bracing himself against the intrusion, no hope for bearing the assault. As soon as it began Harry felt as if he'd been struck with a cruciatus curse concentrated inside his head.

Then the memories began to pour forward: Quirrell attacking him, the battle with the Basilisk, the graveyard and Voldemort's resurrection, the Department of Mysteries and Voldemort possessing him, the Dursleys and Voldemort killing Dudley.

"_Stop!" _

"This is only the beginning of your pain, Harry. When I'm done with you, death will be the sole desire left in your broken existence. You'll beg for it, and only when that very moment arrives will I deny you release. There are worse things than death, indeed Potter, and I'm going to write the book on it with you."

The pain inside his head doubled, which seemed quite impossible. Suddenly, he could feel his body again, and it wasn't a good thing. Something warm ran down the side of his head, from his ear he decided. He was choking, and it only exasperated the pain in his ribs. Slowly, he regained sight and sound – only to see the pool of blood dripping from his ear and to hear his own screaming fill the room.

"_So many different ways to make you suffer, Potter. Which to choose, which to choose?" _

Harry wanted to concentrate; he wanted to focus on fighting back. But aside from the blood leaving his head, there was nothing else he could clear from his mind. The only thought was that this was just the beginning, and Voldemort was just toying with him.

Then it started, though only flashes at first: Dumbledore's office, the pensieve, and the broken trinkets and knick-knacks. He heard Dumbledore's apology, and the intensity of the Voldemort's presence increased. Sybil Trelawny's visage stared at him as clear as if she were in the room. Her lips began moving, but no words could be heard. Harry wondered for a moment if Voldemort were capable of taking this memory from him without him even knowing. Then he felt cold, soft fingers digging hard against each side of his head.

"Give it to me Potter! Your struggle is in vain. I…will…have…it." Voldemort strained.

Harry heard Voldemort, and this time it wasn't from inside his head.

Trelawny's image smeared with that of Dumbledore in his memory and Voldemort in front of him. The boundaries of memory, reality, and consciousness blurred.

"…_he will have power the Dark Lord knows not." _ Trelawny's voice pitched like a warped record. "_…neither can live…with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord." _

Harry felt Voldemort's grip around his head weaken, and the room flashed in and out of view. The searing in his head subsided just enough for him to think on his own. His only thought was, _this is gonna hurt!_

Harry struggled to find his sense of balance as he reached forward with both hands. He could clearly make out Voldemort's face in front of his own, though everything outside of that was still blurred. Feet found floor at the same moment his hands found their way behind Voldemort's head. Transferring his weight as far back as he dared, Harry cocked his head away from Voldemort and then swung forward with all the force he could manage. Directly at the clearest object in view: Voldemort's face.

The loud crack of forehead to nose was heard as much as felt. Now came the dreaded delay. Body tells brain what's hurt, brain tells body how much pain that adds up to, body cues nerves to start dancing an angry jig. It hurts — a lot.

By the time Harry's got enough of his wits about him to make sense of things, Malfoy's foot had returned to its adopted home, firmly planted in his chest. At this point, Harry didn't care. Without a wand or hope of rescue, even dumb luck was a lost cause now.

Malfoy leaned in close to Harry's head. "Stay with us Potter. It's almost my turn, and I'm dying of anticipation. I'd hate to have to wait any longer for you. You'll be a good lad and scream for me, right?"

In what was becoming a theme for the day, Harry had to view the scene around him from the floor. Several Death Eaters were crowded together on the opposite side of the room, around Voldemort he decided. Only bits of the jumbled talk could be heard, but most was along the lines of, "kill the boy" or "torture Potter."

As unlikely as it seemed, it was Voldemort's soft hiss that Harry heard the clearest. "To Malfoy and then the Dementors." His voice was strained, but that detail was lost on Harry. All that he could think on was Voldemort's last words, and no matter all of the reasons he had to hold out hope for having heard wrong he knew it just wasn't the case.

Malfoy's smirk returned fully. "You two, place the prisoner in the restraints." Draco commanded Death Eaters that were at least his father's peers as if he'd been doing it all his life. "It's for your own safety, Harry," Malfoy said. "No permanent damage. That was the only condition of my reward. You are to be my personal whipping post for the next evening. You should feel honored. After delivering the old fool to my lord, he granted me the freedom to claim any reward I sought, even so much as taking my father's former position. Tempting, but I can get there on my own. I asked to be the one who kills you." Draco made an exaggerated show of sighing. "Sometimes even a Malfoy doesn't get everything he wants. It's not often, but it happens."

Harry listened to Draco as the Death Eaters chained him to the wall. He took in everything Malfoy said in hope of hearing something that might contradict the impending curtain call he had with the Dementors. All he came out with was the hope that Malfoy would fall prey to his shortcomings once again and kill him in rash.

There were worse things than death, and having your soul raped by a fucking wraith was number one on Harry's list.

The festivities were kicked off by Draco poorly one-lining, "This is going to hurt you much more than me Potter." Another failed attempt at pulling of the, _I'm-a-witty-young-dark-lord-in-training_ persona. Harry nicely trumped it by pointing out that Malfoy not only acted like a bitch but sounded the part after his recent testicular trauma. You know, just to stir the pot.

It was a long night, smattered with cuts and lashings, and punctuated by several variations of the Cruciatus Curse. Malfoy was creative — Harry had to give him that. However, none of it would compare to what was waiting, and he knew it. He'd taunted Malfoy until he was no longer capable, but the boy had maintained his composure and not killed him.

Bringing someone back from the edge of consciousness, they say that a cold bucket of water will do the trick. Let it be known for the record that this is a distant second option to a room full of Dementors. Albeit a less convenient choice, Harry roused with such expedience you'd think he got brained by a glacier.

Beaten, alone, and facing his greatest fear, the wraiths caught the scent of Harry's suffering like a fine cuisine. One at a time they took their turn, slowly working themselves to a frenzy. There was no long speech, no posturing or rituals, just the cold. Harry heard his mother's screams, watched Sirius' death, and then felt the fabric of his soul ripped from his body.

Malfoy got his scream. Voldemort wrote the last chapter of his book. Harry was now The-Boy-Who-Lost.


	2. Where the Heart is

**Author's notes: **I know it's cliché to say, but this story wouldn't read as well as it does without the generous help of Lisa725, who continues to provide her masterful beta talents. My thanks go to her. Of course, I am assuming the story has a basic level of "well" in regards to its readability.

Thanks also go to Jinawee, animeneko311, barfbag, Rocky235, and Draconis Aeternus all of whom I recall from the Fire of Life days. Thanks for leaving your kind feedback!

Chapter 2 – Where the Heart is 

_Depressed yet? Well boo-bloody-hoo. You'll get no sympathy from me. I actually had to live through that shit. You…you get to sit there and maybe feel a little pity. Be that as it may, Voldemort's "worse" wasn't nearly as bad as what fate would have for me — that slag. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all was a fucking sadist — or just really lonely. Either way, I'd like a few minutes alone in a locked room with the sod just for the presumption._

_So now I'm supposed to be a Harry-pop, all body no soul, an empty vessel, a Twinkie minus the gooey cream filling. And the rules say that my cream filling stays trapped forever inside a Dementor; swell. Apparently that would be too simple, and fate just won't stand for something as uninteresting as that. No she's got "plans" and not an ounce of compassion. _

_Home is where the heart is. So I guess I should have known I'd lose this one too. _

xxx

Cold — and not the type of cold that a Molly Weasley jumper is going to fix. The cold that Harry felt came from within, and it saturated him to the tips. That's what happens when your human-suit is replaced with a newly tailored Dementor ensemble. Cold's best friend dark was just as imposing. All the time in eternity and your eyes would still never adjust. Their old running partner Despair was doing its very best to overwhelm. Harry felt like he had no arms or legs — like he was deaf, blind, mute, paralyzed, and yet still alive. Still, cold was the unquestioned frontrunner in this trio of suck.

"Hey, kid."

Well maybe not deaf.

"Hello, anybody in there? Maybe some light'll do the trick."

A voice and a matching bright light in the distance to match; how cliché. Scratch blind from the list as well.

"Oy, there you are. What, have you nothin' for your favorite godfather?"

The light dimmed to a shimmer, and Harry stared as the image of Sirius Black immerged from behind it. The man was walking towards him with a swagger that clashed with the dismal surroundings.

Instantly, Harry wanted to call out, to beg Sirius to take him away from this place. He remembered that Sirius once offered him a home, and at this moment there was nothing he wanted more.

But the words wouldn't come, thankfully Sirius did. Harry could see compassion in his godfather's eyes. He could see that Sirius understood his panic and that Sirius knew he wanted to speak but was unable to. Sirius responded exactly as Harry hoped he would: He held him.

"It's okay, my boy. I'm going to get you out of here. I'm going to take you from this wretched place and give you everything you've wanted."

For an instant, Harry thought he felt true bliss, but such a thing was not possible in this hell — there was no denying it.

"First things first, kid. We can't properly get started if you're not able to speak, right?"

The cheer in Sirius' voice didn't belong. Not here. Harry knew this. He could only muster a nod in response.

"Well, there we have it. Let's have a basic crash course then. What you've got to realize is in this place you haven't a voice, or a throat, or mouth, or air for that matter."

A befitting assumption, Harry understood. There was nothing here — nothing of him, nothing of hope.

"So how will that get you speaking, you may be wondering. Well, what you do have here is a soul — _your soul_. That means you have a will, an essence, a sense of self. Project that. Form it into your words. Look at me, and don't try to materialize your words. Just offer them to me."

_Get me the hell out of here!_ Harry didn't offer his thought so much as he spewed it up. It didn't work. Though the bug-eyed look and frantic motioning provided enough body language for Sirius to comprehend.

"Calm down, Harry. Don't force this. You haven't reconciled with the loss of your body and are approaching this from a mortal perspective."

Harry began to wonder if Sirius had learned his teaching manner from the Severus Snape book of ambiguity. He might as well have been trying to clear his mind and cast a wordless levitating spell at the same time. Whatever hope he believed he once felt was completely gone from him. This was a struggle he could not bear — not in this place, not with this pain.

"No, Harry!" Sirius screamed and shook his godson. "Don't give in to the Dementor. You can do this. You _will_ do this. Just look into my eyes."

Harry grudgingly obliged.

"Good boy. Keep staring, and think to me what you feel." Harry's eyes strayed before the request was finished. Sirius shook him violently. "DO IT!" he screamed.

Harry stared blankly into the dull eyes of the man above him. "I'm cold," Harry thought. Sirius heard him.

"Good, Harry. The hard part is over. Just stick with me a little longer." Sirius smiled at his godson, and Harry returned the slightest nod in response. "What's your happiest thought, Harry?"

Harry looked at this godfather blankly. "WHY?" he gasped out. "TALK LATER … JUST WANT TO GO!"

"I know it's hard, Harry, and I'm going to get you out of here as soon as possible. But I need you to help me. I can't do it on my own. Will you help me?"

Harry could see the yearning in Sirius' eyes, and it motivated him. "Yes."

"Good, Harry. Now, tell me your happiest thoughts," Sirius implored

What happy thought? There was no happiness in this place — there never had been for that matter. His life was ruined from the get-go — there was never anything to live for. Harry felt these emotions press on him. They hurt, but not in a way that he'd experienced pain before in his life. The emptiness hadn't derived from within. This pain surrounded him, pushing in from the outside.

"It hurts," Harry moaned.

"I know it hurts, son. It hurts badly, but it's not your hurt. Don't let it own you." Sirius placed his hands on either side of Harry's head and held his gaze. "Just you and me kid. Focus on me, and tell me your happiest thought."

The pain was suffocating, but it wasn't as overpowering when he looked at Sirius. "Flying," he managed, and the pressure lessened slightly. "Winning the House Cup," Harry added and _felt_ his Godfather's smile in response.

"That's good, Harry. Keep going."

"Kissing Ginny," Harry blurted out, feeling a tad embarrassed about mentioning it. The words were coming easier. It was getting less dark as well.

"Well there's a whopper! I'd have liked to been around for that one. Harry's first snog." Sirius' boisterous laugh seemed to fill the empty space.

It wasn't so cold anymore, and it was definitely getting lighter. "The first time you told me I could live with you, Sirius," Harry said.

The cheer evident around Sirius' eyes lessened, replaced by pride. The hands that held Harry's head so firmly shifted to cradle the back of his neck. He leaned forward and rested forehead to forehead with Harry. "It was always all for you, my boy. I love you, Harry."

Harry felt the emotions rush through him. This time they were from within, and they were bursting to get out. A smile overtook his face as he looked up into Sirius' eyes. "I love you too, Sirius."

A deafeningly loud crack reverberated in the emptiness. Harry made to pull from Sirius' grip, but the man held him tight. "You ready to go home?" he asked with a smile.

Harry heard another crack and a painful whistling sound. Because he was being held firmly in place, Harry was only able to watch in his periphery. Flashes of the dungeon that once held his mortal body could be seen through the cracks forming around them. Harry decided that the whistling sound was also seeping in through those cracks, but it wasn't a result of them. The sound was from whatever was outside this place, and the newly formed fissures were allowing the sound to rush in.

"I've always enjoyed this part," Sirius said with a wicked grin.

In an instant it was all gone: the cracking walls, the incessant whistling, Sirius, everything. There was no sound, and Harry couldn't feel a thing. He saw a flash of light, and some distance away he saw Draco Malfoy.

xxx

It's not everyday you see a Dementor doubled over.

Since the demise of Harry Potter, the Dementor that took the boy's soul had been nearly as much a trophy as the empty shell that was his body. Even the other Dementors had treated this one with a seeming reverence. Not that any one person could claim to be an expert in the interpretation of Dementor body language. For the most part, they just floated around killing things, imposing pain and suffering, and occasionally emoting a sorrowful moan. However, in as much as they were not social creatures, they never seemed to avoid each other's path.

Whatever the submissive behavior of the other Dementors truly meant was any Death Eater's guess, but most assumed their prize wraith had earned an unprecedented level of respect amongst his fellow demons. Of course, Death Eaters aren't the brightest of folk.

All this to say that when said Dementor all of sudden doubled over in the middle of the dungeons – well – people noticed. What few weren't paying attention, were, roughly at the same moment the creature let loose a piercing squeal. The other Dementors quickly gave the pig-impersonating wraith a wider berth. If Severus Snape been present he might have noticed, but along with not being particularly bright, Death Eaters aren't particularly observant either.

"Shut it, Dementor, or else," Draco Malfoy ordered.

It's possible that Malfoy presumed his presumption would earn him added respect. Most just thought it would earn him an entirely unwanted kiss. As luck would have it, his command was deftly met with immediate compliance. He even had the added audacity to act as though he'd expected this reaction.

Suddenly silent, the Dementor looked directly at the blond boy and exploded. Four Death Eaters were obliterated by the blast, and many more were significantly wounded. Unsurprisingly, no Dementors were hurt in the making of this scene.

Fortunately for Malfoy, he was far enough away to escape harm. What he didn't avoid was witnessing the image of Harry Potter that flashed momentarily out of the remains of the formerly intact Dementor.

xxx

If cold were the proper description of what Harry felt before, numb would succinctly explain what he now experienced. If not for the fact that he was in motion, he would have thought himself paralyzed. That he was moving _downward_ brought a certain sense of dismay. Though he never considered himself the religious type, he knew enough about standard dogma to understand that up was good and down was bad. Trading a frozen hell for an assumed flaming one wasn't any more appealing.

He arrived upon a cobblestone street surrounded by cottages and shops that looked as if they would fit in nicely amongst an antiquated village in the Scottish Highlands. Smoke bellowed out of several of the homes, which Harry aptly recognized to mean he wasn't in Hell — at least not as he understood it to be. It was early evening, just dark enough for his eyes to have to adjust. The crisp breeze drifting between the buildings raised the hair on the back of his neck. This meant he could feel again, and it was a source of great consolation. A quick check of his extremities confirmed that the rest of him was in place as well.

Lanterns placed evenly along the side of the road dimly lit the desolate street. There were no cars, or perhaps more fittingly, carriages outside of the houses. Harry couldn't see people inside the homes either, though light shown from each one. Slowly he made his way up the street, his footsteps and the evening's breeze the only sources of noise. The further he walked the more he couldn't shake the feeling that this place was familiar to him, intimately so. Yet he couldn't place why.

"H-hello," Harry said softly. The breeze around him died as if in response, leaving the echo of his voice as the only remaining sound. He only ever felt his stomach turn so much when on his Firebolt.

"HELLO!" Harry screamed with as much Gryffindor bravado as he could muster.

"All right, then, let's not try to raise the dead." A voice…Sirius' voice, said from right over Harry's shoulder.

"Holy shit, Sirius!" Harry gasped as he leapt away. "You scared me half to death."

"Touché!" Sirius chuckled, "…half-to-death…that's good."

Harry looked back blankly.

"Well you get it don't you? Death…'raise the dead…scared to death…" Sirius waited for a response. "It's no fun if I've got to explain it then." Sirius extended his hand to Harry, "Hi, I'm Sirius Black, _former_ heir to the family Black…as in formerly _alive_ – otherwise known as dead. Death, raise the dead … it's called i-ro-ny. Can you say 'irony'?"

Harry didn't take the offered hand.

"Great kid that Potter boy. Good heart. Not the quickest wand in the shop."

"You feel better now, get it all out of your system?" said Harry. "If it's all the same, I'd rather you tell me where the hell I am, and more importantly what the hell is going on."

"Take a breath, kid. Sheesh, you'd think you gone a few rounds with the Dementors."

If looks could kill again…

"Alright, alright, it's out of the system. I'm done." He took Harry into a rough hug, "Just trying to set the mood is all. I'm glad you made it out. I knew you could."

"Err…thanks, but I still don't know where _it _is," Harry said, his voice smothered in Sirius' chest.

His godfather released him at the realization. "Sorry, one does tend to get lonely in my situation."

"What situation is that?" Harry asked.

"Another time. There are more pressing issues." Sirius looked over Harry to their surroundings. "So you don't recognize the place, eh? I'll admit this version is a little bit before your time, but it's still unmistakably familiar."

"It feels like I've been here before." He pointed past Sirius to the end of the street. "There's something down there as well. I'm drawn to it."

"You spent the better part of your first year of life there. Well, in a fashion, it was here a couple decades from now, or…err, a couple decades from the version before us." Sirius looked like he was about to go cross-eyed, but he shook it off and flashed another smile. "Point is, the Potter's have called this village home for as long as history can tell."

"This is Godric's Hollow isn't it?" Harry asked. "This is where my parents died."

"Right in one, Harry." Sirius placed an arm over Harry's shoulder and started them down the road. "Want to meet what it is that's drawing you this way?"

"You mean…my parents, don't you?" Harry said.

"That's right, Harry."

Having suffered through more than one person's share of "get me the hell out of here" moments, Harry couldn't come to terms with the notion that the walk down this road filled him with a sense of dread as yet unmatched. He'd experienced enough of life to realize that heightened expectations were a dangerous thing. They were dangerous for the near sixteen years he'd spent dreaming about his mom and dad, but more important to Harry, mortifying for what expectations they might have of him.

By the time they reached the two-story cottage at the head of the road, Harry was wishing that numb feeling would return. He was nearly paralyzed with anxiety as Sirius pushed him past the heavy, dark wood door and into the home.

Smells can trigger memories forgotten — good and bad. A freshly baked apple pie on a spring afternoon, cut grass in the summer, the dingy kid smell in the mess hall at primary school. The first thing Harry smelled in his parent's home was glass cleaner, and all it reminded him of was Herbology class.

Sirius pulled his shirt collar over his nose. "Guess your mum's been cleaning a bit."

It was only slightly less odd to Harry that his mum didn't use magic to clean the windows than the idea that the dead had access Windex in the after life.

The cottage seemed bigger on the inside than it appeared from out. Thick wood beams extended across the ceiling to their connection with the wood frame. It set the tone for the interior, as most every bit of furniture visible in the living room was also framed in wood. Candles and lanterns were lit throughout the house, making the deep crimson rug that bore the Gryffindor crest look almost black. Everything in the house was in perfect order, down to the three burning logs in the fireplace stacked neatly in a triangle against each other. It occurred to Harry that this must be the standard of tidiness Molly Weasley had been striving for all her life.

Sirius led Harry further into the house until the sounds of voices were heard, clearly arguing with each other.

"I won't let you do this!" A chair that flew out of the room and smashed into little pieces not four paces in front of Harry punctuated the point. Sirius pulled Harry by the shoulder and led him to the wall that separated their room from that occupied by the arguing voices.

"Your mind in our affairs was never to be considered." The voice was overly deep and thoroughly portentous. "Curse the manipulations of the heir of Black," the voice said.

Sirius looked to Harry with his proudest Marauder grin. "It's what I do, kid. Sirius Black one; Godric Gryffindor nil."

"You mean that's…" Harry started

"The very one kid. Now shut up. It's starting to get good," Sirius interrupted.

"Now, now, Gryffindor. Simply because you contrive an association with your forename and a more omnipotent god does not change the fact that you remain indefinitely lacking by comparison." This new voice had a drawl remarkably similar to a certain potions master.

"Be idle _your_ tongue, Slytherin," Gryffindor spat. "Your devices in this quarrel shall not go overlooked."

"He doesn't mean Sal…" Harry started.

"Yes, you're very quick. Now shut it," Sirius said, interrupting Harry again.

"But isn't he…"

"Not now, Harry," Sirius said, still smiling.

"The only thing idle here is stuck between those overly large ears, Godric," Slytherin said. "And it's dangerously close to being damaged by that foot stuck firmly in your mouth."

"You will mind your place!" Gryffindor boomed.

"Like an old married couple those two, eh?" Sirius said to Harry.

"Both of you stuff it! I could give a rat's arse why he's here. The matter is moot now. He's here, and I'm telling you he's suffered enough. I will not allow you to impose your will on him any longer," James said.

"You know there are greater powers at work here, Potter," Gryffindor said.

"Fuck your prophecy _Founder_!" Another chair met its splintery end across the room. "My boy is not your tool. Not any longer."

"James please…" To Harry it was as if the soft female voice put a spell on the room that could calm a dragon.

Sirius watched Harry's eyes gloss over. "Well, I think this is as good a time as any," Sirius said. "I knew that hearing your mum's voice would raise quite a stir out of you."

"That's really her, Sirius." He meant to say it as a question.

"Without a doubt. Now go on, get in there before they start up again. That lot'll be at it for all eternity if you don't interrupt."

"You're not coming?"

"Rules, Harry. There are some that even I can't break," Sirius replied.

"Rules…what rules? Stuff the rules, Sirius," Harry pleaded.

"Don't think I haven't tried. Unfortunately, this time I don't have a choice. Trapped souls can't join the ones that have passed. I may be dead in every manner but the nuts of it, but it seems the devil is in the details."

Harry stood in dejection for only a moment before realization dawned. "Bullshit!"

"How's that?" Sirius asked.

"I said, bullshit. It's what you're full of. I'm no deader than you, yet on I go. My body is probably a fucking trophy by now, but it's a living one nonetheless."

Sirius laughed. "Take my word on this one. They'll make an exception for you."

"Well, they'll just have to make an exception for you as well."

Sirius ruffled Harry's hair, and Harry responded sharply by throwing the man's hand from his head. "You are definitely your father's child," Sirius' voice faltered despite his effort to ignore Harry's terse reaction. "What with him telling the founders to get stuffed. You telling me what exceptions the powers that be will make." Sirius sighed. "I should've been a Potter."

Silence fell between the two, and Sirius' smile left his face. Rather than face the mounting tension, the man looked to the now silent room beyond the wall where he and Harry stood. "I think that's our mutual cues kid."

Harry looked to his feet, more as a matter of anger than shame. "Will I see you again?"

"There isn't a force in the world that could stop it." Sirius didn't need to see Harry's face to know the remark didn't go over. "Smile, you'll want to make a good first impression." He ruffled the boy's head one last time and was gone.

Harry looked up as he felt his godfather's hand leave his head. Instead of the gaunt, dark-haired man he expected to see, there stood the beautiful, fair, red-haired women Harry had dreamt of so many times.

"Harry?" she called out,leaving him once again mesmerized. Suddenly there was nothing else in the world as important to him — not Sirius, not the fact that Salazar Slytherin was in the other room. "Mum?" It was meager, but a proper first impression was suddenly a distant concern.

The world swam when his mother took him into her embrace. This was perfection, He knew it, and all at once he was glad for death. This was exactly what had been missing all his life, and if all it took was dying to finally feel complete, then he'd be happy to write up the obituary.

"Oh thank heavens," Lily cried.

James entered the room where his wife and son stood together and offered a stern glance back to the men standing in his kitchen. "I'm warning you, founders. Leave my boy alone."

Harry drew his head away to stare over his mother's shoulder and into father's beaming face. His face was similar to his own, just older. It made him feel like a kid, and he was glad for that as well. The impish grin that grew over his face seemed to agree. His father responded, much to Harry's joy, by joining his mother and he in their hug.

Perfect bliss twice in as many moments — this was the stuff Patronuses were truly meant to be born of. Joy such as this didn't trifle in a meager corporeal Patronus. No this was the four-horseman of happiness, the white stag of Dementor apocalypse — a veritable atom bomb of genocidal joy.

Yet as the overwhelming elation settled and brain function returned Harry couldn't fight away the nagging detail that Salazar Slytherin, _the_ Salazar Slytherin, was standing a room away. The originator, ancestor of the very bastard who'd made hell of that thing he'd called life. Salazar. Fucking. Slytherin. What was he to say to that? How can it be that the first words he was ever going to speak to his parents were, "Mum, Dad, lovely to finally meet you. Could you tell me what Salazar Slytherin is doing in your kitchen sippin' on a cuppa'?" It just didn't strike him as an appropriate icebreaker.

Lily sniffed back a sob and broke the silence before Harry had a chance to. "You're so skinny, just like your father was when he was your age." She made an exaggerated gesture of holding Harry at arms length and looking him over. "But, you've grown into your ears already. James didn't manage that until well after Hogwarts."

Harry watched his dad over-exaggerate a look of shock. "Sixteen years and the first thing you have to say to him is he's skinny has big ears? Really, Lils, I wonder sometimes." James took Harry behind the head and pulled him close so that he and his son were looking together at Lily. "I've got to apologize for your mum here, son. Sometimes the fires burn but the floo isn't connected, if you know what I mean."

"Ja-ames!" Lily cried. She looked so crestfallen that Harry's heart ached. That was until his father put on his own impish grin and Harry understood this was an interaction that had played out many times before between his parents. They embraced and then looked to Harry.

"Damn pleasure to see you, son," James said hand extended.

"We're so proud of you, Harry." Lily barely managed to get the words out before her voice caught in another sob.

Harry took his father's hand in a giddy shake until they were interrupted. "Ehem…" A voice called from across the room.

James smile didn't falter as he continued to shake his son's hand. "If you've never been in or around a car, please refrain from participating in this conversation," he said to the person that was trying to interrupt.

"Potter, I think it best…"

"If it was still standard practice for the family of the bride to receive a dowry on her wedding day, do mind your business." James smile transformed to more of smirk, though he continued to stare at Harry.

"This is no time…" the voice insisted. Finally, Harry looked past his father to see the large man that went with the voice he knew to be Godric Gryffindor's.

"For love of Snitch, man!" James turned, scowling, to face Gryffindor. "If you've ever had the pleasure of building Hogwarts, if you've managed to put whatever you thought was your better judgment into a rickety old hat, if you actually knew Merlin in the flesh, _please_…do shut up!"

"That will be enough, _James_," Gryffindor boomed. "Were it to me, I'd grant you all the time in the heavens with your son."

"If you've ever had a sword with your name on it run through the head of a basilisk, piss off!" Harry blurted out, facing the founder with a scowl that matched his father's.

"Too right, son," James said. "It seems subtlety is lost on this founder."

"I will not be spoken too in such a tongue by a child!" Gryffindor snapped.

"Who are you kidding? You'd be grateful to be spoken to in any tongue by a child, you miserable old sod," Slytherin said. "Though I must say, James, neither of us knew Merlin in the flesh."

James took a breath to argue but thought better and let it out as an exaggerated sigh instead. "Please, may my wife and I have a moment with our child – alone? I understand your objections Godric, but he's here now. We've seen him and him us, so please let us enjoy this moment as it should be."

"Yes, he is upon us, isn't he? Due entirely to the mechanizations of your friend Black I'm sure. Measures which you took great stock in depending upon, of that I am even surer. Time you shall have James, though no change will come of it, only pain — mostly his." Gryffindor stared starkly at Harry as he spoke, then turned abruptly and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Slytherin made a show of golf-clapping at the man, and he even gave a small bow when Gryffindor scowled at his antics. Voldemort's predecessor turned to Harry afterward and the joviality fell from his face, "He's right you know, Harry. Despite your parents' and Black's efforts, you will still have to face your destiny. So try not to get comfy." He winked and followed after Gryffindor into the kitchen.

Harry saw that his dad was about to say something, but he decided it was time for him to speak, first impressions be damned. "What in the hell is that man doing here?"

"Harry!" Lily cried, "such language."

Dead or no, he still had the good sense to be embarrassed at his mother's admonishing.

"Lils, I think we can give the boy a little leeway here considering," James responded. "Harry, Salazar Slytherin is not the dark, betraying founder history has made him out to be."

"I heard that!" Slytherin called out from the kitchen.

"No, he's an arsehole all on his own," James said with a smirk as he looked to where the voice came from.

"Touché," the voice called back.

"For the sake of not retelling you the entire history of Hogwarts and Slytherin's actual part in it, suffice it to say that he was just as much in support of what Hogwarts stood for as the rest. He wasn't the first dark lord, nor did he garner any ill will towards Muggles or mixed-blooded students. Most important, Harry, I assure you he is our friend."

"More so than Dumbledore, I'll add," Lily said.

Harry thought his brain might explode out the side of his head. "Er…is he here?" Harry asked, thinking of all the questions he had for the man. He realized it wasn't an appropriate inquiry once he saw the look on his mother's face.

"He certainly is not, nor will he ever be." Lily snapped. She took another breath to continue, but she stopped when she saw the pained and confused look on Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry. I realize this is all so sudden, but you have to understand that we've been watching over you all your life. It puts us at an unfair advantage I know." Lily beamed a smile at her son, "But let us fix that. We can talk, and you can ask whatever it is you want to know about your father and I."

Harry looked to his father, who was smiling just as brightly as his mum. He looked back at his mum, and she was waiting expectantly for his questions. He must have had a million of them over the course of his life; but now that the moment was here, he couldn't recall a single one — not while all these circumstances hovered around them like bad lies. It lent a sense of deceit to the atmosphere, and feeling that wash over this interaction with his parents was crushing. It left him speechless.

The silence extended until it became awkward, and it was then Harry realized the truth of the situation. In all his life he couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to meet his parents. Now he was there, and of the three of them, none could think of anything to say that didn't center on what he'd suffered in life.

"You were a smashing good seeker Harry. Your mum and I watched every match you played in," James said suddenly.

Give James house points for forcing the situation.

"Yeah, your dad here always said you would be," Lily added. "Of course he said it was all in your blood."

"Err, yeah," Harry said, playing along. "Were you much of a flier, Mum?"

"Me? Oh well, I could handle myself on a broom. Not like your father, of course, but I was known to play in the occasional pick-up game."

Silence again. How could it be that he wasn't even going to get this moment right with his parents? "Bloody hell!" Harry cried.

"Harry James Potter!" Lily scolded.

"Come off it, Mum. I've dreamt about this moment all my life. Now I'm here, and there's so many unanswered questions surrounding us that I can't even properly enjoy it."

"Harry…" Lily said.

"No, he's right, Lily," James said. "There's no point in acting like nothing is wrong — like this is the meeting we _all _imagined."

"Definitely not," Harry agreed. "Between Salazar Slytherin sitting in the kitchen of the very house you two died in, Mum telling me that she apparently hates Dumbledore, and Sirius skirting me here from the belly of a Dementor and then leaving just as quickly, I'd say this is the opposite of what I imagined."

Harry looked fiercely at his parents, refusing to allow their dejected stares to deter him.

"I want answers. All my life people have kept the truth from me, the same as you are trying to do now. I won't have it. I can't! Not…not from the two of you." His resolve was fading as each of his words visibly affected the look on his parents' faces. "I…I think I deserve them. I mean…it's not like they're going to kill me…not anymore."

A tear fell down Lily's cheek, and it was all Harry could take. He opened his mouth to apologize, but his mum silenced him with her hand and led him to the couch nearest the fireplace.

James followed and sat on the chair next to them. "You're right, Harry, absolutely right," he said. "There is no point in pretending, and your mother and I certainly will not treat you the way you've been treated all your life." To this he gave an imploring look to Lily. "What is it that you want to know?"

"What are they doing here?" Harry said as he looked over to the kitchen.

James paused, obviously hesitant, and looked to his wife before answering. "I want to answer that question, son. The short of it is that they are here for you. But it's not the whole truth, and I don't know if the rest of your questions will seem relevant if we start with Godric and Salazar."

"Fine," Harry scoffed, "Then what's the deal with Sirius?" Being a simpler question he figured there'd be no cause to avoid the answer.

"He's not dead. The Veil, like a Dementor, claims your soul — not your life. Sirius's case is unique because he fell through the Veil body and all, rather than just losing his soul to it. This makes it much worse for him. But as you can attest, it affords him certain opportunities as well," James replied.

"He said he couldn't see you guysbecause he can't interact with the dead."

"That's what makes it worse for him," James answered. "Until his body dies, he can't pass on. Even when it does, he may never be able to escape from the Veil. I think that's why he hasn't let his body go yet." Lily put her hand over James as he said this.

"But I'm not dead either," Harry replied quickly. "You just said the Veil was like a Dementor."

James didn't answer and turned his head down. "You're not supposed to be here Harry," Lily said. "It's only because of Sirius that you found your way."

"That's why they're here isn't it?" Harry said.

"The founders are here…because of that," Lily said.

It was obvious that his parents were still reluctant to speak on the topic. "Fine," he pushed on, "what's the deal with Dumbledore?"

Lily took a calming breath. "Albus Dumbledore was someone we cared greatly about, Harry. He looked over your father and I the same way he did for you and your friends. But after we passed, he began to make decisions that were not his to decide. As time passed, those types of decisions became unforgivably more common." Lily's face hardened as she continued. "It became clear to your father and me that he was more concerned about meddling with the circumstances than he was about your best interests; I don't think he'd ever admit that though – even to himself."

James spoke up. "It's because his constant meddling caught up with him that Dumbledore is dead. And the very same meddling has him suffering a lonely afterlife. Believing that you have all the answers all the time doesn't make for an easy transition to a place where whole truths aren't so hard to come by. For our part, knowing that his presumptions about the greater good were about as accurate as history was on Salazar Slytherin earns the old codger a standing boot in the arse," James said angrily.

"I'd be happy to provide one should he present his sagging rump in this home again," Lily added.

Harry couldn't decide if he was sad, angry, or confused, so he took on an expression that he'd mostly reserved for when he watched Dudley eat.

"You never should have gone to the Dursleys, Harry," Lily ranted on after her husband. "Sirius should have never gone to Azkaban. The prophecy is something that you should have known from a very young age, and your understanding of it should have grown as you did. All of this is directly Dumbledore's fault." Lily clenched her hand into a fist. "He knew our wishes, and despite them, he did whatever he thought was best."

"But it's not… Mum, don't you see. All of this is Voldemort's fault," Harry pleaded. His parents looked at him like he was child, and he wanted to lash out at them for it. "This isn't fair. How could you think that?" Harry pleaded.

"You're right, son. It's not fair," James said. "It's not fair of your mother and I to behave this way. But try to understand, Lily…your mother and I…gave up everything to give you a chance at life. Even though it meant sacrificing our own lives, and even more, sacrificing your chance at having parents. We gave it up so that you could live."

"Dumbledore wasted that sacrifice. For what? An opportunity to tuck you away in case your own sacrifice might be needed in the future?" Lily snapped.

Harry couldn't stop gaping at his parents. After everything, all that he'd been through…he was Dumbledore's man through and through. Without a thread of sense to hold on to, all he could think to do was defend the old man. "But he didn't have a choice…and he thought Sirius had given you up to Voldemort…he…he only did what he thought was best…" It occurred to him that his line of argument had taken him right back to the very point that his parents were making, but somehow it seemed like that should have been enough.

"Best for who, Harry?" James said calmly. "Think on it? Knowing what you know now, what you knew before you arrived here, does it really seem to you that growing up with Vernon and Petunia was for the best? Sirius…"

"THEY THOUGHT SIRIUS HAD BETRAYED YOU!" Harry screamed.

James put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Could you accept that Dumbledore so easily believed Ron had betrayed you?"

Harry stared back blankly until his father's words set in. That notion was absurd. Ron would never betray him. He would sooner die. But that was exactly how Sirius had felt. Would Dumbledore have let Ron wither away in Azkaban? Harry fell back into the couch; his throat tightened, and he immediately felt his eyes begin to water. Half of what he believed in life was a lie; the other half had been lost with the Dursleys.

He'd never truly had a home.

"Sod it all!" Harry snapped.

"Excuse me, son." James replied.

"What difference does it make now?" Harry answered. "I'm here – we're here. Dumbledore, the Dursleys, the prophecy, none of it matters anymore," Harry said earnestly. "Dumbledore was wrong. But that's for the better right? I mean, think about it. If he hadn't messed everything up, then I'd probably still be alive and not here with you guys." The implications of his words were only becoming apparent to him as he spoke them. Yet as he accepted them as truth, he felt a great weight lifting off of him.

James and Lily didn't respond. The look on their faces made it clear they wanted to say something, but Harry couldn't tell what it was.

"It's okay. Really," Harry encouraged. "I mean, I get it that this means Voldemort kinda won, but still, that doesn't mean that we can't be happy together now." He expected this would ease the tension on his parents' face. It didn't.

James opened his mouth and then closed it. Lily looked up expectantly when this happened, but then she turned her stare to the floor when she realized her husband wasn't going to speak.

Suddenly discouraged, Harry followed his mother's lead and looked to the floor as well. "I'll be fine," he said. "It's okay now. It's over. We can be together." He hoped that repeating the thoughts would convince his parents of what he was saying.

"To what return can more of _this_ lead to for the boy?" Godric Gryffindor's voice boomed from the far end of the room.

James head snapped up, and his face took on a harsh expression. He made to leap up, but Lily stopped him with a soft hand on his arm. She wasn't looking at her husband but rather at Harry who was starting to cry on the couch next to her. James saw this, and his body sagged as if defeated.

"Perhaps you will heed my word in the future," Gryffindor said smugly.

"Damn your pride, Godric!" Slytherin snapped as he entered the room behind Gryffindor. "You have the tact of a horntail. Say your piece and be done with it."

"The boy must be prepared to return at once…" Gryffindor started.

Harry's head, along with every other one in the room, immediately snapped to the Hogwarts founder. "Bloody fucking hell…millennia pass, and still you find new ways to disappoint me more than I ever thought possible!" Slytherin hissed. "I swear, when will I learn to expect as much?"

"What – what does he mean?" Harry asked meekly.

"Harry…" Lily started but couldn't continue as she took in the horrified look on Harry's face. Her face contorted painfully as she tried to fight back her own sobs. She hid it against Harry's chest as she wrapped her arms around him. "Can you ever forgive us, son?" Her words could barely be understood muffled against Harry's chest.

Harry stared at the top of his mother's head, shocked; it was enough to shake his thoughts from processing Gryffindor's words. He looked up at his father and waited for an explanation. James looked back blankly and a surreal silence blanketed the room. When it seemed no one would make the effort to break it, Slytherin cleared his throat.

The sound snapped James from his stupor like a hypnotic cue and instantly he lunged at Gryffindor. Harry watched his father clear the gap to the founder with unbelievable quickness, and though Gryffindor's face looked as though he expected the attack, he did nothing to avoid it.

A tremendous thud shook house hard enough that dust and paint fell from the ceiling to the floor. James slammed the man into the wall and held him there by his shirt collar. "I told you founder, I will not allow this!" He sneered. "He has been through enough!" There was so much anger resonating off of him that Harry could have sworn that his father was glowing.

Gryffindor maintained his composure despite the attack. "Always have you known this would be. It is precisely for this reason the boy was never to have come here. Perhaps your judgment of Dumbledore's misguided intentions isn't so righteous after all."

His descendant's barb sent James into a greater fury. He pulled the man away from the wall and slammed him once more, knocking several of the pictures to the floor. "Damn you! Damn all of you. I swear that I will not allow this."

The founder continued to look unfazed by the attacks. He calmly reached down to James' hand and twisted it off of his collar, forcing the man to his knees. "Only because you are my heir will I tolerate such insolence. These decisions are no more mine than your own. You know this to be true. The boy must return and finish what has begun. Neither he, nor you, nor I, has a say in this."

"That's not true," James said frantically. "It doesn't have to be this way. He doesn't deserve this. It's our fault. We shouldn't have left him to suffer this fate alone." Harry's father was clearly begging at this point. That he was doing so while forced to his knees made the entire rant look all the more pathetic. "Take me instead," he said with a sob.

Harry watched it all in disbelief. His heart was torn between seeing his father reduced to groveling and the utter horror he was feeling that they were actually going to send him back into that Dementor. Somehow, what he was seeing only acted to reinforce the dread in what he was hearing.

Harry noticed Slytherin staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head and looked back at the man's expressionless glare. The matter-of-fact-ness in Slytherin's face forced something to snap in him, and suddenly he went numb. Harry turned away from Slytherin and looked back at his father crying on the floor. His life was Hell. And his Hell had a name, Voldemort.

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched upward, then his belly shook slightly, which stirred Lily from his chest. Suddenly Harry burst into hysterical fits of laughter; Slytherin continued to stare blankly.

"Harry…" Lily said softly.

He stared down at his mother and just laughed harder.

"Harry, son, what are you doing?" Lily reached for the side of her son's face.

He pushed his mother's hand away and stood from the couch. His outburst broke into mixed fits of laugher and cries as he turned his back to the room to stare into the fireplace. Between his hysterics he managed to say, "It's not fair."

James pulled loose of Gryffindor and crossed the room to his son, "Of course it's not fair, Harry. We're sorry."

Harry jerked away from his father the same as he had from his mother and turned back to the room. "NO! It's not fair to _him_!"

"To who?" Lily asked.

"Voldemort of course. I mean, think about it. Here he is, doing his dark lord thing, throwing Crucios like they're fucking confetti no doubt. He's fresh off of killing Dumbledore and turning the Bloody-Boy-Who-Lived into a living corpse — not a bad fortnight's work, I might add. And _poof_, here I come, back from the undead to have another go."

Everyone in the room stood in silent shock except for Slytherin, who had the slightest smirk of amusement on his face. Harry saw this. "He knows what I'm talking about," Harry said, pointing to the man. "Maybe you can fill this lot in. He's your blood after all. No doubt you've thought of his side of things by now."

"The boy has lost it," Gryffindor stated. "I told you not to bring him here."

"Harry, you don't know what you're saying," James pleaded.

"Of course I do. Honestly, Dad, are you so thick that you can't see this from any perspective but your own? I mean, this poor guy, all he wants to do is rule the world, kill a few Muggles, and live forever. Then here comes this boy, who despite the many years of dark arts, and rituals, and whatnot, reduces him to nothing better than the boogeyman. He then spends the next thirteen years finding himself a new body, kills the so-called greatest wizard alive, and finally gets his revenge on the boy who took him out." Harry paused for someone to finish for him, but no one said a thing. "…and now you want to send me back. Well," Harry said as he threw his hands up in the air, "that's certain to ruin his Christmas."

Slytherin let out a snort. "I do believe there's hope for you yet, lad."

"You can go fuck yourself, Slytherin." Harry snapped.

"It would make the days go by a little less slowly, I would think," he replied deftly.

"Son, just take a moment to calm down," James said.

"Forget it, Dad. Let's get this over with." Harry looked over to Gryffindor, "Somehow I gather you're the one who's going to set things in motion here?"

"That I am, Harry. Take consolation in knowing that you will not go it alone this time."

Harry intentionally turned his face back to the fire and away from everyone in the room. "Whatever. Do your worse." He scowled.

As he stared at the flames Harry thought about the bliss he'd felt not a moment before in his parents arms. It led him to think about Sirius' question of what were his happiest thoughts, and then about Sirius himself. He decided at that moment he hated the man. It was his last thought in the afterlife.

The last thing he heard was Gryffindor chanting, Slytherin yelling something over top of Gryffindor's voice, and both his parents screaming.

The room was gone.

Everything was dark.

He was cold.


	3. Where the Rest Goes

**Author's Notes: **Have I mentioned that Lisa725 is great beta? How about that the story wouldn't be nearly as readable without her help? I have? Oh – well did I tell you that Lisa725 is a direct descendant of the Greek philosopher who invented the semicolon? No? It's true, yet for some reason she won't let me use any in my story? Weird, huh? You all should ask her why that is.

I hope everyone got their warm-fuzzies in during the last chapter (pre-devastation from being sent back, of course). It's time to meet Not-So-Happy-Harry. Also for those who were pondering a career in Death Eating, you might want to check Monster for other professions available in your area. Rumors are our recently returned principal character is taking in active interest in forcing payouts on said profession's life insurance policy holders.

**Chapter 3 **_— _**Where the Rest Goes**

_Told you fate's a bitch — consistent though, you have to give the old lady that much. Looking back on everything I've suffered since the day that friggin' note came from Hogwarts, a couple more years under the stairs would've been fucking holiday by comparison. Of course, with the trinity of twit dead I doubt there'll be any long weekends at Chez Dursley in the future._

_So what would you do? I'm alive, yet I've nothing to live for. You don't get reshuffled into the mortal coil and resume worry on NEWTs and Quiddich matches. At least I didn't stay dead a virgin. Not that that's likely to change since I've got a second go of it. Former soulless corpse cadets aren't the sort to make the top ten in Teen Witch Weekly — it's just not a quality one fashions grade A shag material from, if you know what I mean… I guess I'll have to settle for the next best thing. _

_I'm going to kill them all._

_xxx_

_Huuunnnggghhh!_ Harry sucked in a lungful of air that felt like broken glass. His head pounded as all of his corporeal senses accosted him at once, and none had anything pleasant to report. Sight, blurred with indiscernible vestiges of grey and black; smell, distraught by the putrid scent of mold, blood, and sweat; touch, squeamish at the return to skin that no longer felt his own.

His unfocused eyes adjusted as best as they could, and Harry took stock of his situation. Dark room, stone floors, throne at his side. Dungeons, Voldemort's main chamber, Harry the human coffee table. Then he took stock of himself. He wasn't in pain, which was interesting since his clothes were ripped to hell and covered in blood. He felt his face with his hands. Besides the scar on his forehead, there wasn't a mark on him. Then it all came back to him: the memories of the Dementor's kiss, Sirius, Godric's Hollow, meeting his parents – losing them again.

He tried to fight the emotions pushing out of him. He searched desperately inside himself for something to anchor his anguish against, but there was no solace to be found on his knees and in front of Voldemort's throne. The tears burst forth in convulsing sobs. He cried for the loss of his parents again. He cried because it was Sirius who'd imposed this pain on him; but more than anything, he cried because he was broken. There was nothing in this world worth living or fighting for. A trip to the afterlife was sure confirmation of it. He wanted escape; and if there was ever such a thing as justice in this world, Harry decided it would come in the form of Voldemort, carrying a big fucking bat and some spare time.

The room echoed the sound of his sobs back at him. It didn't matter to Harry; his sense of shame departed with his will to live. But the creak of a door opening interrupted everything. The room grew suddenly cold, and Harry felt a new wave of uninvited despair fall over him. The feeling was all too familiar and sure confirmation there was, in fact, no justice in this world – that or Voldemort was short on spare time.

There was no point in facing the creatures as they entered the room. He knew what was coming, and he honestly didn't care — dead is dead is dead. What difference does the manner in which it happened make? The room grew colder still, and the moment of reckoning was upon him. _I don't care! _This was what he told himself. Then why did it feel like he needed convincing? It wasn't like he had to actually do anything; just wait for the inevitable and his wish came true.

_But choosing not to act is an act in itself. _It was A fair point, but shouldn't he at least consider why he would choose to act? After all, if he couldn't find a reason for it, then it wasn't giving up. It was more like accepting terms. _Why? Why fight? _The turmoil quickly fashioned into frustration, the frustration moved to anger, and then something clicked.

_I'll tell you why…because fuck them, that's why! They want despair? Well I've got it by the buckets, and suddenly I'm dying to share._

It was clear: He wouldn't allow it to happen again. He'd welcome death gift-wrapped and with a bow, but he'd be damned if another soul-sucking Demon was going to get so much as a sample from him. If justice wasn't on the menu, he was just going to have to cook some up on his own.

Harry felt something raw and untamed well up within him. The push of the Dementors on his emotions had provoked it, and all that was left was for him to unleash it. If there was nothing to live for, there was nothing to lose either. That realization alone was more than enough reason to let go.

His sight snapped suddenly into focus as he lifted his head from the tear-soaked seat. The last tear he would ever shed fell from his face and froze solid before it hit the floor. Rage consumed him — a hate that burned more powerfully than any emotion he'd ever experienced – and it felt righteous.

Slowly, his wrath spilled out of him in cold waves that froze everything in the room around him. The floors. The walls. Voldemort's throne. Eventually the flames burning atop the torches succumbed to his cold. Blackness enveloped the room the same as his wrath incarnate had before. There was complete darkness, yet he'd never seen more clearly.

Five Dementors stopped dead in their tracks as they felt their own oppressive cold presence outdone and thwarted by Harry's. Perhaps they were trying to figure out what happened to the once helpless prey that had drawn them into this room. Harry wondered if they'd become confused, but he had no way to tell if that was the case – unless, of course, he forced the issue.

He saw the Dementors as he never had before. Their bodies still looked frail and dark, shrouded in rags that hung off their slight frames, but inside each one he saw a small beating pulse of light just beneath their mouth.

"_Rip it from their wretched carcasses!"_ commanded a voice inside his head.

Hate fueled him as he launched himself across the room at an unimaginable speed, caution thrown to the very wind that pushed past his ears. He was at the nearest Dementor before the demon even had a chance to recognize it was being assaulted. In one fluid motion, Harry buried his arm halfway to the elbow inside it. Everything around his arm froze in an outward circle from the wound: the rags the Dementor wore, the rotting tissue that encased the creature, the no-longer-pulsing heart in its throat. Harry stared into the black emptiness of the Dementor's face and pulled his hand free. There was no blood. No captured souls poured from the wound, but the piercing squeal wailed by the demon wrought a sense of blissful retribution in Harry. The Dementor vanished to nothingness, and the rags that once shrouded his victim crumpled to the floor.

The remaining four Dementors turned to face the spot where he stood, yet none of them advanced. That was fine: He was happy to go to them – slaughter with a smile. He growled as he stared down the two nearest Dementors to his right. It took only three steps to clear the gap, and neither creature was able to move away as swiftly as he'd arrived. He waited for the first Dementor to react. The one on the right feinted away from his advance first, so he rewarded its initiative by smashing the frozen orb still in his hand through its face. Same squeal, same satisfaction to be had. The creature covered the wound with its shrouded arms, allowing Harry the opportunity to divert his attention to the other. This one didn't have the good sense to attack or flee. Being an equal opportunity wizard, Harry was happy to reward its indecision with a mouthful of his fist, which he sunk elbow deep to its throat.

The novelty of listening to his victims' cry faded quickly, and Harry buried his free hand into the first Dementor. Simultaneously he tore both frozen orbs from the impaled demons and returned silence to the room. Three down, each a masterpiece of destruction that charged Harry's fury to greater heights.

The remaining pair of Dementors, both of whom had watched their brethren so easily dispatched, made the smart decision to search out a soul snack elsewhere, preferably from a source that didn't suck worse than them. Harry's desire for vengeance wouldn't allow this. He spun from his spot and tackled the trailing Dementor from behind. Both he and the creature were sent tumbling across the floor. The Dementor squealed just like its dead predecessors as Harry rolled until he was straddling the creature. It tried to suck Harry's soul from his body, but the once overwhelming power this had against him was gone.

The last Dementor fled the room just as an un-hooded Death Eater entered. Harry snarled at the shocked man like a beast laying claim to its prize. Seeing the man frozen with fear, Harry turned his attention away and looked back to the prey beneath him. He was going to take his time with this one. He cocked his head slightly to one side as he noticed the pulsing light within the Dementor beat faster and faster. Quite slowly he pushed his hands through its throat, watching the robes and body of the demon freeze around his arm – listening with pleasure as the wraith squealed louder and louder. When he reached the orb within, the Dementor released such a cry Harry was sure every soul left in the afterlife would hear it.

The body disappeared from beneath Harry as he examined the frozen orb in his hand.

"Ha…Harry P-Potter? B-but you, you…fell to, to the…D-Dementor."

Harry kept his head down and slowly turned his eyes upward to stare at the quivering Death Eater. He could see the man's breath in the air and knew it was the effect of his power. A half smile, half sneer grew over Harry's face. "Now they fall beneath me."

The man's eyes went wide as he realized the inevitable. "Dark Lord, help me," he gasped and turned to yell for help.

Harry sprung from his spot, grabbed the man by his throat, and slammed him several inches into the wall across the hall before he could manage a single word. The Death Eater stared disbelieving at the inhuman speed with which Harry got to him. His fear grew to utter panic when he felt his neck begin to freeze under Harry's grasp. Harry leaned in next to the man's ear, "No one can help you now," he whispered and crushed the frozen throat in his hand.

Harry dropped the man without a second look. Examining the hallway there was no sign of the Dementor that had gotten away or any other living soul.

"_Your wand, Harry! Summon your wand," _the voice in his head told him.

Silently, Harry did so, and a moment later it flew around the corridor followed by three Death Eaters. The trio came to an immediate halt as soon as they spotted Harry.

They didn't stay still long. Perhaps it was the utter disbelief at whom they saw, or maybe it was the sight of the dead Death Eater sprawled on the floor, throat frozen and crushed. More than likely it was the sight of their breath in the air and the unnatural cold creeping around them that they decided to run.

Whatever their reasons, Harry's blinding need for vengeance made it quite clear why he chased after them. He followed the fleeing men around the corner and down another hall lined with cells on each side. The growing sound of their voices screaming for help, announcing that "Harry Potter was back" told him he was gaining.

Harry was thrown clean off his feet two steps into the first room he entered. A blinding flash of purple struck him on the upper left half of his chest and shoulder, precisely where his heart was, and turned his full on run into a half flip. The odd thing was the collision of his back on the floor hurt more than the impact of the spell itself.

Harry sat up and looked to the spot where he'd been hit. The piece of his shirt where the spell struck was incinerated, though portions of it stuck to the skin beneath. The look of it had him waiting fearfully for the rush of pain that hadn't quite reached his brain. But as he examined further, he discovered that there wasn't a mark on his body. The fringes of what remained of his shirt were scorned all to hell, but the skin beneath was completely unscathed.

Harry took on a look of disbelief that was matched only by the three Death Eaters across the room. "It-it can't be. I hit him square in the heart."

Harry didn't pause for speculation. He was on his feet as swiftly as he'd been thrown off and focusing all of his anger into the first offensive spell that came to mind.

"_Sectumsempra!_"

The spell flew from his wand the same moment his detached left sleeve fell off his arm. The fabric exploded like confetti in front of him as the spell tore through it. When the view cleared, Harry saw three fallen Death Eaters cleanly split into six halves.

A rather sizable pond of blood began to form on the floor in front of him. It was enough to shake off the reign of blind rage that had consumed him to this point.

"_Perhaps that was a bit…much,"_ the voice in Harry's head said. For the first time, he realized it wasn't his own.

"What the fuck!" Harry screamed and spun around in search of a source. His confusion was cut short by the horde of Death Eaters that entered the room across from him. Their pursuit was cut short as they halted at the lake of blood growing between them and Harry. They looked in unison to the severed bodies, then to Harry, and then to each other, expressions of fear and confusion spread across all their faces. It was a sight that Harry was growing to appreciate.

"_Perhaps if the roof were to fall_…" the voice calmly suggested.

There wasn't time to ponder the source. Despite their shock, the Death Eaters were beginning to take aim. Harry snapped his wand at the ceiling and focused the spell in his mind, "_Reducto!"_ A shower of rubble poured over the group, leaving those in front crushed beneath and the rest barricaded by the pile it created.

Muffled screams of agony rang out from beneath the debris while calls of anger and pursuit filtered from those beyond it. Harry stared through the gaping hole in the ceiling and saw a room full of Dementors scattering like roaches. Vengeance filled his mind once again, and the only decision left was which demon to desecrate first.

Before he could choose, an explosion of pain threatened to split his head in two. He doubled over and grasped at his head in an attempt to keep it from doing just that. The door to the room above slammed open, and Voldemort stepped through to the newly created precipice.

The shock on the Dark Lord's face was quickly vanquished by fury. "Why won't you die!" he yelled. "What powers are these that maintain your pathetic existence?"

"What's the matter, Tom? Is the throne room set not complete without a Harry Potter end table?" Harry gritted through the pain. He stood straight to appear firm on his feet despite the struggle. "Ever considered that it's you who's supposed to stay dead?"

"_You can't face him now Harry!" _the voice in his head urged.

Harry ignored its plea. This was it, win or lose, kill or be killed, fuck if it mattered to him. He stared unblinkingly into Voldemort's eyes, daring him to make a move. But Voldemort remained steady, training his own stare directly into Harry's eyes.

"Stop this at once boy! This is not your moment," the voice argued. "He's not playing at some childish challenge, you idiot. He's using…"

Voldemort's jaw dropped as shock and realization hit him at once. "You're not alone," he hissed.

"RUN!" the voice commanded.

The conviction behind the order was enough that Harry was compelled to obey. No sooner had he taken his first step than a killing curse exploded against the ground where he once stood.

"The window at the end of the hall, Harry!"

He looked up and saw the destination. It was more a slit than an actual window — not nearly large enough for him to fit through.

"Blast the opening, boy."

He did so without question. Voldemort was not far behind him, he could feel it. He jumped through the window just as another blast of green light flew past his head.

"This is going to hurt quite a bit."

The night's sky opened up around him and acknowledged his successful escape. Apparently free, Harry took this opportunity to look down and examine his achievement. He was several hundred feet up in the air and falling perilously to a significant collection of jagged looking rocks below. Apparently, the dungeon was set at the edge of a cliff, and he was now plummeting quite inescapably to his death.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. Back from the dead only a few moments and he'd gone from wanting to be dead again, to wanting to kill everyone else, to committing suicide. Not your average evening.

The deafening rush of wind gusted past his ears, and he decided not to watch as he fell; he might as well go out with a surprise. His body jolted violently, and the sound of wind was replaced suddenly by the sounds of his flesh tearing. Dying hurt quite a bit. The world flashed white and the pain stopped; death had finally come.

Oh well.

_xxx_

White turned to gray, and slowly his eyes were showing him the oddest views. The world was set in black and white, yet distinct streams of color flowed from everywhere around him and above the colorless world beneath. Each torrent of color was like its own misty stream, and each seemed to be leading him to a distinct destination. Death sure did have a funny look to it.

_Fwump…fwump. _

This sound repeated like a cadence, pounding inside his head and drowning out all other noise. Combined with the flowing streams of colors painted atop the grey world, he lost orientation, and felt rather like he was swimming through it all. He had no desire to fight against it. Everything seemed decidedly out of his control anyway; it was best to just stand aside and observe.

Provided that option would remain available to him. The thumping sound faded slowly. Suddenly, his body was afire, and in this limited capacity all he could reason was that whatever had muted the world from him must have also protected him from this agony.

"_Take hold of yourself, Harry!"_

That damned voice again…and still giving orders.

"_Look to the tree-line past the shore below you." _

Harry was in too much pain to bother arguing. He looked down at the black and white world beneath him and watched a dull mist of yellow flow above it. Beneath the mist was a sea of black he wouldn't have recognized to be water were it not for the fluid sway of the yellow cloud atop.

The pain intensified, forcing Harry to try to escape within himself once more. He clasped his eyes tightly shut and tried to ignore all the sounds attacking his ears. Perhaps if he focused only on that thumping sound again…

"_You must concentrate, boy!" _

Harry ignored the plea. It was that fucking voice that'd gotten him in this situation to begin with.

Refusal wasn't an option. The salty scent of the sea struck his senses and opened the floodgates to the rest of the world. He opened his eyes, and despite the pain, their focus improved. Thoughts and realizations rushed his mind that he had no recollection of gathering. Somehow he now understood it was varying scents he was seeing as streams of color; he could follow each color to the source of each scent. He also understood that there was only one scent he was interested in, one that struck him vividly – blood.

"_I cannot maintain this for you much longer, Harry,"_ The voice strained as it spoke. "_You must find your way to the shore." _

The scent of blood was almost intoxicating, and he felt a distinct sense of disappointment that he couldn't pursue it. The urgency of his situation forced him to return his focus to finding the shoreline beneath him. This was a particularly difficult feat because the yellow mist of salt scent covered everything up to the trees. With no clear solution, he settled on an area in front of the trees where the obscuring yellow mist wasn't swaying like ocean water.

"_Quickly now, look to your sides," _the weakened voice commanded.

It seemed like a reasonable, if not pointless, request. So he did. And at that very moment, his pain re-doubled. Apparently his mind was under the impression that all those whiny signals of pain from his body were a bit overstated. Visual evidence, it seems, is the perfect resolution for such a situation. Harry's mind was now perfectly convinced he was fucked. Considering what he was looking at, Harry was inclined to agree.

Left to right and back again, Harry swung his head to confirm he wasn't mistaken. _Wings_!Tremendous, black, leathery wings protruded from his sides — **his** skeletal, horse framed sides, **his** tremendous, black, leathery wings. It was these wings that had been the source of the thumping sound in his head, these monstrous wings beating a percussive chorus against the air beneath them.

"_I can't hold it anymore. I'm sorry, Harry"." _The voice faded, and these very same wings stopped beating.

For reasons that were beyond his understanding, a trend had become apparent to Harry. Since his make out session with the Dementor, he'd found new and interesting ways to shatter the record on the Weird-Shit-o-Meter. Dying and coming back to life was pretty far out there, killing four Dementors by ripping out their previously unknown hearts was beyond strange, but flying over a Crayola box world as a motherfucking Thestral was just off the charts.

And there was the voice in his head to boot. There was a peace in knowing that certified him as a lunatic. But if he was crazy, he might as well try to make the best of it. The wings were there, and he was plummeting perilously … To hell with it, what's another notch on the radgie stick earned for trying to use them?

He tried flapping his arms, or at least that was the signal he asked he brain to translate – nothing doing. He kicked his legs, lifted and lowered his shoulders, swung his hips – nope, nothing, and still falling like a rock. Trying to move the foreign parts was like trying to learn how to wink. Only this was like learning to do so whilst someone poked him in the eye with a hot dagger.

The rocks and certain death were only seconds away when he felt something strain at his side. It felt like a jab in the ribs, but different, more solid. However odd it felt was of no matter; it was this or nothing at all. He pushed against the sensation and felt the skin beneath his stomach stretch and tighten to the point that he worried it might rip. Regardless it worked: His wings straightened and a loud _fwump_ rang out as they caught the evening air beneath them.

Holding the position was painful enough that there was no thought for trying to actually move the wings. With the momentum he'd gathered during his fall, he figured there was at least enough to glide to the shore. It was a considerable _under_-estimation.

The sand was underfoot no less than a second after Harry began his glide, too quickly it seemed, like he'd Apparated to the spot. The sudden change left him no time to react, and he went toppling violently across the sand. A tree was kind enough to halt his momentum when he flipped into it at the edge of the forest line.

_Sssspop. Sssspop, sssspop. _

He heard the sounds repeating from somewhere, but he was too disoriented and distraught to figure where. It didn't matter; no amount of convincing could get him to move from the position he was in. It was the first time he hadn't felt any pain, and considering the force at which he'd hit that tree, Harry wasn't certain this was a good thing.

_Sssspop. _"Any sight of Potter?" The voice sounded young, his age.

"Potter was kissed. What in the hell are we doing down here looking for him?" another voice whined.

"Fool! The Dark Lord said go find Potter, so that's what we do. Less talking, more finding, got it!" the first voice snapped.

"Over here!" another young voice yelled, much closer than the first two. "Look at these marks in the sand. Something definitely fell here, but it looks way too big to be human."

"Follow the trail," the first voice commanded.

Harry reluctantly rolled over to watch his pursuers come for him. The shift of his large Thestral mass startled both him and the Death Eaters following his trail up the beach.

"Did you hear that?"

"Of course I heard it!"

"It sound like it came from in the trees; maybe Potter saw us and fled?"

"Are you serious? That sounded more like a bloody hippogriff. Just check it out and move on."

Harry was awestruck at the specter of sights he witnessed as the four white masked individuals walked toward him. He watched each Death Eater come sharply into and out of focus as they spoke. His eyes saw the sound of their voices travel along the ground and around each other, like radar. They grew closer, and he saw that each wizard had his own dull color around him. It was like the person was wrapped in a thin, misty sheet of blue or red or green. He heard their footsteps crisply in the sand; when they were almost on top of him, he started to shake out of his reverie and worry about what to do.

He was certain this wasn't him being dead anymore; that being the case, it meant he should start worrying about those annoying Death Eaters again.

"_At this point Potter, It wouldn't make a difference no matter what you do." _There was the voice in his head again. It shocked him, but he held still. "_Better you just lay there and let this sort itself out." _

"_What the fuck is happening to me?"_ Harry thought.

"_No need to shout. I'm in your head, boy. Can't get much closer than that, I'd estimate." _

"_In my head! What are you doing in my head? What have you done to me? Who in the hell…"_ Harry's rant was interrupted as the Death Eaters arrived.

He froze stiff, hoping that the group wouldn't see him…as a mammoth, half reptile, half horse, winged creature. It struck him as an utterly ridiculous notion, and he made to stand and fight, or run, whichever he could manage best.

"_Just lay still, Harry. Trust me just this bit longer. This group is young, and I think you've got as good a chance that they've unseen eyes as not." _Harry was reluctant to follow the advice, but the group was only a few steps away.

They stopped not a pace before him, and he had to move a hind leg to avoid being stepped on by the leading Death Eater.

"The trail ends here."

"Figure that out all on your own did you?"

"But there's nothing here — just the imprint of whatever monster it was that had been here."

"It must have flown off. There are no tracks that lead away from the spot. No matter, whatever it was it couldn't have been Potter, too big."

"_That's rich" _The voice laughed in his head._ "I think it's safe to say you've got Riddle a little more than worried_. _Otherwise he'd have sent a wizard worth his weight. These bastards haven't even seen death, yet they've got the cheek to call themselves Death Eaters – we should kill one just for the presumption." _

"_They really can't see me. But why would Voldemort do that, why not come himself?" _Harry asked.

"_Obvious, isn't it? You've got that coward scared for his life. Not everyday someone comes back from being kissed, kills a Dementor, and cuts three aged wizards in half. No, the dark one's afraid to come after you himself and too concerned about what you can do to send a wizard of value for fear he'll lose him." _

"_What am I supposed to do now, just wait?" _Harry quipped as he stared back at the four Death Eaters standing over him.

"We don't have time to waste here," the lead Death Eater offered almost as if in response. "You, return and report that we didn't find Potter on the beach. The rest of us will continue to search for him in the woods."

The three remaining Death Eaters dispersed in different directions away from Harry and into the woods. He waited until he could no longer hear, _or see_, their footsteps before he made another move.

_I think it's safe to say that I've completely fucking lost it! _Harry thought. "_Lying on a beach as a thestral, the world's gone black and white, at least when I'm not seeing what I hear and smell. And I'm talking to the voice in my head." _

"_Not quite playing in your feces yet, though," _the voice responded. "_It's somewhere between there and gnawing at your elbow that you should start considering professional help." _

"_Who in the hell are you?" _

"_Why I'm the original: The Defector, the Other Founding Father, the Prince of Parseltongue. Would you like to see my Dark Lord Decoder Ring?" _

"_Slytherin"? _Harry asked.

"_My friends call me Sal. But I think I'd like you to call me The Voice," _Slytherin replied.

"_The Voice? Are you telling me I've got a sodding ghost living in my head?" _

"_Well, you could call me The-One-Who-Lives-In-Your-Head, but it's not as catchy and a might unoriginal. Whatever you do, don't call me your conscience. I've seen that mess, and I'll have no association with it. Trust me when I tell you that you were well on your way to crazy long before I got here –the inner conflict you've got." _

"_ENOUGH! Please, can I just have some straight answers?" _Harry pleaded.

"_Fair enough, Harry," _Slytherin replied, the lighthearted tone gone from his voice. "_Yes I…encumbered a spot in your mind just before your soul was sent back. Gryffindor had plans of filling this role himself. But Golden boy would've had you charging in like Galahad, and it's my opinion that this adventure is going to require a more tactful approach – at least if there's going to be even the slightest chance of you surviving." _

"_So this isn't a temporary thing then?" _

"_Better me than him, trust me on that. Gryffindor has a bit of a god-complex about him, and he would have just gone about ordering your every step." _

"_Consider me comforted,". _Harry thought dryly.

"You should be. Could you imagine having to listen to him all the time?"

Harry fought through the pain in his body and came to a stand on his four legs. "_Yeah, great. Whose plan was it to turn me into this?" _

_This is your animagus form, though I had to force your transformation along a touch faster than is standard. I'm of the mind that this particular form is another benefit of your recent travels to the land of the dead and back," _Slytherin replied.

"You call this a benefit?" he yelled.

Harry heard, and then saw, the sound of a stick snapping in the woods behind him. He turned to face the sound just as another snap was heard. He saw the flash of color travel from its source, revealing the outline of every tree, bush, and stone between him and it. More importantly it revealed the outline of the person from which the sound had come.

"Yes, I call that a benefit. I also think that's the signal conversation time is over for the moment, Harry. Best to be on our way wouldn't you agree?"

"I can barely move, much less mount an escape," Harry argued.

"The pain is only superficial, I assure you. Your transformation into this new form was forced and above all sudden. The only way your mind knows how to respond is through discomfort. Push through it," Slytherin ordered.

"Superficial? Dis-bloody-comfort! You want to start with your shit or your elbow 'cause clearly you're the one who has gone round the bend."

"Stop acting like a child! Matters are at hand boy, and now is not the time for you to start focusing on your lesser traits," Slytherin snapped back. "You handle the flying, and I'll help with the pain. Now go."

There's added authority to a voice that yells orders from within one's own head — a fact that is perhaps overlooked when people argue with themselves. Still, Harry thought he'd like to have some say in this decision.

"Fine, we're going to Hogwarts". Not that he had any idea which way that was.

"_I would advise against that_."

"_Screw your advice," _Harry barked and interrupted Slytherin. There was silence and Harry took the time to search for something to help gain his bearings. He found nothing recognizable.

"Hogwarts is not a suitable location for you to…" 

"_I said shut it, Slytherin," _Harry ordered. The approaching Death Eater was almost back to the tree line, and Harry didn't want to test fate any longer that he'd continue to go unseen.

"_I can show you the way,"_ Slytherin said with a taunt.

Harry would have grunted in frustration were he not a serpent horse. "_Show me." _

"_So you do need my advice?" _Slytherin continued to taunt.

"_You're going to make me say it, I assume?" _There was no response. "_Fine. Yes, I could use your help at the moment." _

"_You've been utilizing my help since the moment you got back, except for that crying fit. That was all you." _

"_I swear I will bore into my own skull and remove you with a spoon if you don't make with the helping."_

"_Away from the tower, to the east. Do you see it?" _Slytherin replied.

Harry didn't have to ask what, he knew what Slytherin knew, or what Slytherin wanted him to know. The image was clear to him, as was its location. He looked to the left over the water and saw a bright white light: the beacon of his destination. His Thestral instincts knew where to go, how to get there, and the subtle magic it would take to do so quickly.

A benefit indeed.


	4. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Notes: **Lisa725 rules. My first child will be named Lisa725 and he will likely hate me for it. But this is the compensation that must be made, and I am a man who, if nothing else, outsources my debts to those closest to me. May he grow to be a feeble and weak willed boy so that his revenge is less likely to make with the overly bad owies.

If you have reviewed, thank you. I do much appreciate it. If you have not reviewed well I'm thinking not so nice things that I can't appropriately share on the page of a fanfic that holds only a Mature rating. However know that there are unhappy small animals involved.

To Von and Zaptor who did review but did not leave an email (therefore making it so I can't respond), thank you. To those who reviewed unanonomously, I continue to offer my responses in gratitude.

The moral of this, Lisa725 may or may not be an unhappy small animal.

**Chapter 4 – The Beginning of the End**

_Look, everybody, I can fly! All it cost me was my parents, my soul, and my will to live. Maybe if I give up free will I can live forever and be psychic. Oh wait, that's already been taken – bugger. I so wanted to know what was going through Hermione's head when she decided to stop being the smartest witch of her age and started chasing boys._

_I wonder if Hermione and Ron know that their friend has become a freak? I doubt it; what with having futures to worry about: NEWTs, Quidditch matches, snogging, in Ron's case what's for lunch. I can't believe that shit ever mattered to me. I've spent the last six years of my life paying attention to such trivial nonsense. _

_Like trying to live a normal life. _

_I know now that there's no such thing, and I'm worse for it. It's better that my friends never have to figure that out. It takes all the flavor out of living. At least I've got a cause. I've had it all my life, but Dumbledore was too busy hiding it from me for me to know. Well, my eyes are open now, and when I'm not a snake-horse hybrid seeing the world as a Dali painting, they see that my cause is putting the "fuck you" into Voldemort's plans. _

_Just like he did to me. _

_xxx_

Hogwarts wasn't the same, and the plain truth in that statement made it all the more poignant. Harry gazed at the grounds as he flew above them. Maybe it was just the way his Thestral eyes perceived it, but everything about the once great school looked dead to him. Whether that was truly the case or not it didn't matter; everything about Hogwarts felt dead as well.

He landed on the grassy banks next to the lake. There was no way to tell how far he traveled, but it had certainly seemed like a great distance. That he'd managed to complete the trip wasn't all that remarkable to him; the fact that he'd done so in a mere couple of minutes was. Though in the end he figured it to be just another box to tick off on the "when I grow up I'm going to be a freak" list.

"_No good can come from this," _Slytherin said.

The words grated at him, as they were the same ones Gryffindor had spoken to his parents. "_So, is that just a founder thing — telling people what's best for them?" _Harry snipped.

"_It's the truth, whether you want to admit it or not"._

"_In my experience, the truth isn't something people like you are capable of speaking"._

"_You mean Slytherins?" _Salazar snapped back.

"No, I mean people who have spent too much of thier lives telling others what's in their best interest…and also Slytherins."

"_Speaking in generalities now, are we? And here I thought I was cast to fill the role of bigot in this tragedy." _

"_Fine, then that makes me the lead. So stop with the lecturing and change me back!"_

"_Have it your way," _Slytherin said with resign.

Pain tore through his skin and bones as the transformation traveled through his body. He flew across the country in a couple minutes, but it seemed to take an eternity for the change to complete. The pain remained even after he was human again. It left him crumpled on the grass shaking and praying to whatever god would listen to end his pain or take his life, whichever would be less of a bother. No one answered his prayers.

"_Will it always hurt this much?" _Harry asked, cringing.

"_Until you learn to control the change on your own, yes."_

He got to his feet despite the pain. The morning dew had left his clothes — at least the parts not caked in dried blood or ripped away — soaked through and sticking to him. Harry gave himself a once over and then cast a drying charm.

"_Oh, that's much better," _Slytherin mocked, "_good as dress robes now."_

Harry looked down at his now dry, tattered, and bloody clothes. It was good enough for him.

He moved on to the castle without another word. He half expected alarms to go off or perhaps an Auror guard to come for him. Instead the gates opened unceremoniously to reveal an empty castle behind them. Seeing that it was summer, the school would be empty save a few staff members. That was fine by him; he'd no clue what to say were someone there. So, with no particular plan in mind, he decided to let his feet lead the way. They took him to the Gryffindor common room, where the Fat Lady began to make a fuss about something; but he paid her no mind. It occurred to him that a nap was just the thing he needed, and he wasn't going to let some over-exuberant oil painting get in the way. He fell asleep as soon his head hit the pillows on his four-poster.

He woke up in the hospital wing.

"Honestly, Poppy, I'm beginning to believe young Mr. Potter is made of miracles," the headmistress said.

"That's not the half, Minerva. There's not a mark on the boy. He's as healthy as ever," Madam Pomfrey said.

"But how can that be? The sight of him when he arrived, I can't even imagine the horror he must have experienced to come here looking such a fright."

"I can't explain it, though that is hardly a first considering the patient. Still, this is beyond belief even for Mr. Potter."

"What of his color Poppy? I don't think I've ever seen such a thing — at least not on a person still living. He's so ashen, and he has huge dark circles beneath his eyes. Surely, he's suffering some sort of magical ailment — a poison perhaps."

"It's not just the color. He's cold as death as well, but I've run every examination I know. Aside from severe magical exhaustion, he appears to be fine. I honestly cannot explain it. We'll just have to wait until he wakes and hope that he can offer an explanation." Madam Pomfrey pulled the sheets on the hospital bed back over Harry's body and covered him with extra blankets.

"_I'm anxious myself to hear what explanation you plan to offer," _Slytherin said. "_Or are you just going to continue pretending to be asleep so you can avoid the situation all together?" _

Harry realized then the downside to having another conscious entity within his head.

"_It's been a while; refresh my memory if you will." _Slytherin went on, "_Isn't hiding behind the guise of sleep instead of facing the problem you've put yourself into the opposite of the legendary Gryffindor house courage?"_

"_You can take Gryffindor and stuff him straight up your arse," _Harry responded.

"Yes, wel,l I'm sure that would be a very interesting way to pass the weekend." Still, you cannot go on forever hiding behind the protection of a nap.

"Has there been any further discussion as to what's to come for him?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt is currently speaking with the minister about that very subject. He and Alastor are doing their very best to prevent the ministry from detaining Mr. Potter," McGonagall answered.

"Can they do that, Minerva?" Pomfrey asked with shock.

"Things are returning to the way they were during the first reign of terror, I'm afraid. The ministry is growing more martial by the day, and people are becoming too afraid to question."

"But surely you can do something as the Headmistress."

"Perhaps if Albus were still here. Every day it's made clearer to me that the authority once held by this position had mostly to do with the person that once held it." McGonagall pulled her robes tighter around her. "Is it getting colder in here?" she asked.

Harry lay listening to the conversation, growing more agitated by the moment. He started to get up but heard the doors to the infirmary bang open. The unmistakable sound of Mad Eye Moody thumping in angrily told him he should wait just a bit longer.

"The time's coming when disputes are better resolved at wand point than pointed politics." Moody followed with a line of explicatives too accent laden for Harry to understand. "Long overdue if you ask me!"

"Please maintain a civil tone in my infirmary Alastor," Pomfrey scolded.

"Nothing else remaining civil; don't see a need for me to have to be any different," Moody shot back.

"There's been a decision then?" McGonagall asked.

"Oh, aye, there's been a decision. Scrimgeour's got a mind to keep the lad detained at the ministry. Say's the Unspeakables ought to give the boy a once over," Moody said.

Madam Pomfrey gasped from the other side of the room where she was gathering another blanket. "The Unspeakables, but why?" she asked as she placed the blanket over Harry and rubbed the side of his head.

Kingsley spoke up before Mad Eye could continue. "The Minister seems to think it odd Harry would somehow be able to escape from Voldemort and just walk into Hogwarts. That he came looking the way he did, but without any lasting injury only strengthens the Minister's case for caution."

"Are you running a hospital or a meat locker in here, Pomfrey?" Moody asked.

"Alastor, please!" Minerva scolded.

"_You know you're getting old when being right has lost its appeal," _Slytherin said calmly.

Harry's need to lash out was boiling inside him, and the founder's words rung true. Still, something inside him needed to believe this wasn't the end of it — that these people wouldn't let him down.

"_Don't grasp too tightly to your faith Harry," _Slytherin added.

"_I swear to Merlin, founder…"_ Harry seethed.

"_Please don't think me to be mocking. I say this in earnest," _Slytherin stated matter-of-factly.

McGonagall continued, "Kingsley you sound as if you believe the Minister is doing the right thing here. Surely…"

"Not at all, Minerva. I'm simply making it known that Scrimgeour is standing on solid ground — even more so with the recent attack at Hogwarts. Him," Kingsley said, nodding to Harry, "in this place. It's a liability that is easily argued against."

"He's only a child!" Poppy exclaimed.

McGonagall's eyebrows rose. "Then perhaps we should take advantage of that fact. If the Minister refuses to see considerations beyond what this boy means to the war, then we shall force him to acknowledge that Harry is a friend and person foremost."

"So you think bringing on the lad's friends and making an opportunity for the press to note this is going to sway things?" Moody said.

"You don't spend as many years with Albus Dumbledore as I have and not pick up on the nuances," Minerva answered.

"Fat lot of good it'll do you, mark my words. Scrimgeour's not one to give a rat's arse on the court of public opinion," Moody scoffed.

Harry had heard all he would tolerate. These people continued to take for granted they knew what were his best interests. Quite frankly, he was about as willing to let this happen as Voldemort was likely to win a best tan contest.

"_There are going to be questions," _Slytherin warned.

"_They can stuff their questions up your arse as well for all I care". _

"_It's going to get pretty crowded in there." _

Harry sat up and threw the covers off of him. A wave of cold pushed across the room that turned all attention to him and instantly silenced the people in the room. He didn't say a word; he just sat staring furiously at each of them. Madam Pomfrey broke the stillness of the mounting standoff by rushing to Harry's side.

"Lay down, Mr. Potter," she commanded before she even reached him.

Harry pulled away from the lady's outstretched hand. "Don't touch me," he said with a sneer.

"Mr. Potter!" The nurse scolded.

Harry just shrugged off her reprimand. "I'm not going to the Ministry," he said forcefully.

The witches and wizards exchanged puzzled looks. "I don't think you should worry yourself about these things, Mr. Potter," the Headmistress said as she crossed the room to his side.

"I heard everything you said. Don't play games with me," Harry threatened.

"Well I don't know what you heard but…"

"Everything!" Harry snapped, interrupting McGonagall.

"You will mind your tone, Harry," McGonagall snapped back. "As I told you, these matters are not your concern at the moment. Now, I must ask that you allow Madam Pomfrey to attend to her ministrations."

Madam Pomfrey reached again towards Harry without waiting for his response. She placed her palm flat over his forehead only to jerk it away just as quickly. She winced and coddled the cold-seared hand in her other palm.

Harry looked to the nurse and then glared back at McGonagall. "I told you not to touch me." He watched as the breath the Headmistress gasped in response showed clearly in the air between them. "You don't listen very well."

McGonagall glanced over to Moody and Shacklebolt, and both wizards drew their wands. Harry looked calmly at the Aurors. "You can't hurt me, and I'd rather not have to hurt you. Just let me pass, and we can forget I ever came here."

A jet of red light sent Harry hurtling across the hospital ward unconscious. "No need to hurt you lad. The way I see it, a proper stunner will do the trick nicely," Moody said.

Madam Pomfrey led the charge to Harry's side. Both she and McGonagall were scolding Moody as they made their way. Shacklebolt halted the two witches before they could get to Harry. "Don't touch him just yet."

Harry's eyes snapped open. "Is that the best you got, Mad Eye?" He was on his feet and shoving past Kingsley and the two witches faster than they could react. Moody barely had the time to train his wand at Harry before the boy's fist was driving through the man's face.

Another stunner spell to the back of the head sent Harry toppling over Mad Eye. He blacked out again only to wake up a moment later bound in ropes extending from Shacklebolt's wand.

"_You might want to work on paying better attention to your surroundings, Harry. Blind rage will only get you so far in life," _Slytherin drawled.

"Shut your damn mouth, Slytherin!" Harry yelled. The already pale, shocked faces staring at him paled further upon his announcement.

"Administer the potion, Madam Pomfrey," Shacklebolt ordered.

The healer waved her wand over Harry's mouth, and he was involuntarily moved to accept and swallow the potion she poured down his throat. Everything grew heavier than he could bear, and sleep overwhelmed him despite his struggle against it.

_xxx_

"Harry…"

The voice summoned him from dreams of friendship and laughter that felt so real. The world that welcomed his return was cold and confined; it felt like hell.

Normally, the expectation for those situations ought to be the other way around; another reason not to be Harry Potter.

"Harry."

_Hermione? When did she get here? Where the hell have they got me anyway?_ If his last experience proved anything, pretending to be asleep had its advantages. Still, he had to figure out where they put him. The five star furnishings diminish quickly when you break the host's jaw.

"Harry, I know you're awake," Hermione said curtly.

_She really can shift on the know-it-all, bossy tone in an instant_. Not that it concerned him at the moment. He took in what his senses offered. On his back, that was his position. The surface beneath him was hard and cold. It matched the feel of the air in room against his skin. There was no breeze, and Hermione's voice had a familiar echo to it. The air smelled like burnt oranges and bleach.

"Maybe we should just come back later."

_That sounded like more of a plea than a suggestion. _

"Oh, Ron, please. Do sit down. I know Harry's awake, and we need to be here for him."

"I'm not sure that's even Harry anymore, Hermione. You heard what McGonagall told my mum and dad."

_Never fails. Pretend you're sleeping long enough, and you'll always find the truth in the situation straight away. _

Hermione scolded Ron with a stern whisper. Harry could imagine the veins in her neck bulging with frustration. Ron started to argue back, and Harry knew all to well where this would lead.

"Why am I in the dungeons?" Harry questioned without opening his eyes or sitting up. That stopped their argument dead.

"I knew you were awake," Hermione said smugly. "How long have you been letting us on?"

Harry sat up slowly and set his legs off the side of the uncovered wooden bed that was chained to the wall. "I asked why I'm in here." It was as he suspected: He was inside a dungeon cell somewhere near the potions laboratories.

"You've been listening to us then, is it?" Hermione snipped.

Harry responded by shifting his glare to Ron. His friend didn't have a semblance of guilt in his look — not even for knowing that he'd been caught talking poorly about Harry. Instead Ron looked at him as if he didn't recognize his best friend going on six years.

"Are you going to…"

"I asked a question," Harry said, cutting Hermione off and sending a hard glare directly at her. She gasped as she felt the cold air of his temper push over her.

"I…y-you attacked Professor Moody…a-and yelled something about S-Salazar Slytherin."

Harry let the hard glare fall from his face and turned his gaze to the floor between his legs. It was hard seeing Hermione so completely shaken by him. She feared him, and he could feel it emanating from her. "He was never our professor," Harry said softly. His tone an act of amity for scaring his friend, but he left his response intentionally curt.

"Harry," Hermione said cautiously, "are you…okay?"

Harry looked up at her as if she'd completely lost it. Hermione held his gaze for only a moment before she looked down and started fidgeting with her hands. She looked to Ron who put on his doe-eyed, dumbfounded look in response, and then started babbling.

"That's a stupid question, I know, but…"

Slytherin began to speak over Hermione as she continued ranting. "_Harry, I know you have no interest in taking my advice. I'm reluctant to admit it, but I understand why you feel this way." _

Hermione continued, "…you just, well after we heard that Voldemort killed your family…I mean, I'm sorry I didn't mean for that to sound so careless, but what I'm trying to say is…"

"_Harry, you need to prepare yourself for the idea that you don't belong with these people any longer. What you've experienced has changed you. I know this is hard to accept, but I also know that you can feel I'm right." _

"…and McGonagall said that when you came here you looked an awful fright, and now…now your eyes…a-and your skin…it's gray, the things you're saying…"

"_I'm not going to ask you to trust me, but I promise you that I will always be honest with you. I will try to tell you why I think certain things will help or hurt you. I'm telling you now that this exchange with your friends is going to hurt you." _

Hermione's chin trembled terribly until she couldn't contain the tears, "…and the way you're looking at me now," she forced out. "Are you even our Harry anymore?" The pleading look that she set on him as she blurted out her last nearly destroyed his will.

"_You must make your own choices though," _Slytherin finished.

Harry sat there looking at Hermione and Ron. His face was fixed with a look of shock, and his mind was torn between the agony of seeing his best friends' suffering and the words of the Slytherin living in his head.

"SAY SOMETHING, YOU IDIOT!" Hermione screamed through a violent sob.

Apparently thinking time was up. Ron's face and hair were playing the role of the glaring red buzzer signaling as much.

"I-I don't know what I am anymore," Harry could only whisper.

"W-what…what does that mean?" Hermione's tone was still biting, and Ron was still imitating a bright red fire hydrant.

His mind couldn't handle the split between what he wanted and what he knew was right; it stripped him of his ability to inhibit himself and left him with only the truth. "I don't think that I'm…Harry anymore." His face twisted with confusion as he tried to make sense of his own words.

Hermione stood and grasped the cell bars between her and Harry. Ron tried to hold her back, but she shrugged him off. "Harry, will you look at me?" She no longer cried, but her bloodshot eyes showed that her newfound resolve was only surface deep. Harry reluctantly complied, showing that his composure wasn't far from being lost as well.

"Do you still love me? Love us?" She extended a summoning palm back at Ron to clarify.

Harry looked between the two people who had always been there for him. Ron stopped imitating a fire hydrant and started in on his ghost face impression. His mind fought furiously with his heart, and he almost wished that Slytherin would tell him what to say. But there was only silence and the question looming over him. His gaze fixed with Hermione's. "I…I ca…I can't – yes," he reluctantly answered.

Hermione's face brightened, her smile reached her eyes, and she gave a look of complete relief. It was so affecting that Harry thought he might get house points for getting the question right.

"You're going to be fine. Everything is going to be alright," she confirmed.

This snapped Harry from his daze. "What?"

"It's…you're still Harry," Hermione said.

"How can you know that? You have no idea what I've been through." Flashes of killing Dementors and Death Eaters passed through his mind. He looked away from Hermione. "You don't know what I've done."

"I'm not saying…" Hermione stopped as she felt another cold wave of air around her. "Dumbledore told me…"

"Dumbledore?" Harry snarled.

Hermione took a step away from the cell. "Y-yes, b-before he died."

Harry stood and walked slowly to the bars. "He told you what? That love was going to save us? That as long as we stood by each other, everything would be fine?"

"Well…yes."

"You think love is going to kill Voldemort, is that it?" Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry cut her off before she could say anything. "Maybe if we just shower him with hugs and puppies, he'll keel over, right? After all, he just needs a shoulder to cry on and a willing ear."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Hermione snapped.

"Of course not. He is a Dark Lord, after all. Clearly what you mean is true love. Maybe a blind date, let destiny take its course. What do you think, Ron? Who's Voldemort's type?" Ron shivered at the name. "Not a Weasley, of course. I'm thinking that having a woman shudder in fear when she says your name in the throes of passion would be a right mood killer." Harry looked back to Hermione. "You don't think Bellatrix Lestrange would be open to the notion, do you?"

"Stop it, Harry!" Hermione yelled.

"You haven't a fucking clue, not about Voldemort, about me, and especially about whatever bullshit Dumbledore fed you."

"I know he died trying to save us!"

"Is that so? You know that do you?" Harry said, sneering.

"I do." The tears were flowing again, but they didn't hinder the conviction in her voice.

"I have another theory. He died because between him and you, it's a contest on who spent more time ignoring me last year when I flat out told them Malfoy was up to something."

Hermione's face went white.

"You think Dumbledore was gushing with love when he found out Malfoy was the one who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts and his favorite spy sent him pirouetting off the Astronomy Tower? I'm going to say no. But what the fuck would I know, I only had a first person view of it all."

Ron took Hermione into his arms, and she cried against him. "Why is he doing this?" she sobbed.

Ron looked over his girlfriend's head at Harry. "You're not Harry. I-I don't know what you are any more, but you're not Harry." He held his shaking girlfriend tighter as she let out another hard sob. "You're a bloody arsehole — that's what you are."

Harry stared straight back at him. "And then some."

The door to the room opened, and McGonagall, Mad Eye Moody, Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, and Scrimgeour filed into the room:

"I think that will be quite enough, Mr. Potter," The headmistress said firmly.

"Been listening in have you?" Harry replied tersely. "That's how things are going to be?"

"Aye, Mr. Potter. Were it up to me, you'd not have the luxury of a talking to at that," Moody barked.

"I'm sure if it weren't for Madam Pomfrey you wouldn't even have the ability to talk, much less the luxury of it. How's that jaw feeling by the way?" Harry said.

"You little shite! A wee man it is who talks so big while hiding behind the protection of ministry rule. Let me hear you spouting off like that when there nay another around to see to your safe passage," Mad Eye responded.

Harry felt his rage burn to the surface. He gripped the bars in front of him as tightly as he could and a coat of ice formed over them from his hands outward. "You haven't vigilance enough for the hell I'd rain down on you, Mad Eye."

"What has he done to you, Harry?" Remus Lupin gasped.

Harry looked over to his parents' friend and saw the pain pouring from his eyes. He felt ashamed for a moment, but the presence of the minister looming just behind Lupin pushed aside the emotion. "No more than what he'd see done to me," he replied, pointing to Scrimgeour.

"Mr. Potter, I'm simply here to ensure that the safety and well being of the public isn't under threat," Scrimgeour said as he stepped past Lupin. "As well as to see that one of our most precious citizens hasn't been irreparably harmed."

"Fuck off. At least Voldemort is honest about his intentions," Harry shot back.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall admonished.

"Harry!" Remus gasped.

"Bloody hell." Ron blurted.

The minister raised an open palm that demanded silence.

"Got a pair the size of me magic eye…" Moody added just as the sounds of the others faded in response.

"I must insist that you refrain from speaking that term," Scrimgeour said calmly.

"Voldemort is not a term, sir. It's the anagram of a hypocritical bastard who gets off watching wankers like you cower at the sound of gibberish," Harry said and watched as a confused and angery look grew over the minister's face. "Oh, I'm sorry, were you referring to the other? In that case, I'll have to clarify. In this instance, _fuck off_ is not so much a term, but rather the nickname I've found in my experience that most succinctly covers how to address the current Minister of Magic. As by an example, I would acknowledge you as such."

Harry extended his closed hand in front of him, raised his middle finger and cocked his head to the side. Slowly, he looked down to his hand and then back to Scrimgeour.

"Good day, Minister Rufus 'fuck off' Scrimgeour." Harry lowered his expressive gesture and wrapped his hand back around the bars of his cell. Leaning forward he said, "I'll have to ask that you not take it personally. Unfortunately, the title comes with the job, sir."

The sound of Mad Eye snorting was the only thing preventing a dead silence from falling over the room.

The minister's face turned so red Harry actually saw the lost relative to the purple vein that lived in his uncle's forehead. "Shacklebolt, detain this thing at once. Take him to the ministry holding cells until further notice."

Harry calmly walked to the back of his cell and sat back on the wooden bed. "I'm a thing now? Honestly, his parents name him Rufus, and he's miffed at being called a fuck off. And we wonder why the government's corrupt."

Shacklebolt approached the cell and opened the door, his wand trained on Harry. "Mr. Potter, you've got two options here."

Harry just started back defiantly.

"One, you stand and come with me willingly. Or two, I make you."

Harry stood and looked to his two best friends. "Hermione, I'm sorry it turned out this way. I'm sorry that you didn't listen to me better last year."

"Silence, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall snapped.

Harry ignored her. "Ron, I'm sorry that I can't be your mate any longer. I'm sorry that you're so afraid of me now that six years of friendship can't help you look past it."

"Kingsley!" McGonagall pleaded.

Harry looked over to the Headmistress and held up his hand to the advancing Auror. "But most of all, I'm sorry you people can't see the truth. That the society you nurture and protect, the fabric of your culture, is the very entity that birthed Voldemort. Tom Riddle came to you the same as me, an outsider, his childhood grown in the Muggle world, but his hatred nourished by the magical world. Everyday you look at the problems of your culture. You manipulate, and scheme, and plot to use the people that would help or hurt you. But you never think on why those people are there, why they do what they do. Why did hundreds of Death Eaters fall in behind a man who is the very type of person they aim their prejudice at? But Riddle does. And that's why you've already lost. So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that no matter what I do, you fucking people are doomed to misery. Because Tom Riddle isn't the dark lord that haunts you, he's just the physical representation of the piece of shit society you people have generated for thousands of years."

"Slytherin, could you change me to my animagus form now, before these people take the time to pick up their jaws and turn me into a puddle of curses," Harry asked.

"You know, technically as a founder of the school for The Piece of Shit Society, I should take offense to what you said," Slyherin replied.

"Nah. It was the same for you in your day as it is for me now. You saw the truth as I see it. If it were any other way, your name wouldn't be mud in the history books."

"A point well made."

Harry looked back to his friends one last time. "Goodbye."

Shacklebolt strode forward and took Harry firmly by his arm. Harry didn't bother with his rage, even though he would have liked to see the Auror flinch in pain just from touching him. Scrimgeour looked at him with hatred so evident that Harry knew there was no hope justice would ever be part of society where this man ruled. He felt the tinges of pain that signaled the coming of his animagus change and grit his teeth in preparation.

Shacklebolt went flying across room. Mad Eye took another shot to his jaw. And Scrimgeour might have caught a passing hoof to the family jewels, totally on accident of course.

"_So, you had a location in mind last time we were out for a fly," _Harry said as he circled one last time over Hogwarts' grounds.

A point of light came into his vision. "_The end will begin where it all began," _Slytherin replied.


	5. Lore and Colloquium

**Authors Notes: **Lisa725 is a good beta, her work is much appreciated. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Writing is fun, but reading all of your feedback has been a true joy. Jw was the only anonymous reviewer this time and so I will have to offer you my thanks here. To the rest, I hope that my email replies have, in fact, found you all. I'm left to trust the site's reply tool that they actually reach you. Let me know if you haven't got them and I'll be sure to reply through my own email. Enjoy!

**Chapter 4 – Lore and Colloquium**

_Voices in my head. Teachers in my school. Government in my country. Telling me what to do, where to go, who to be. _

_Now that I know Dumbledore's the guest of honor at the "biggest arse in the afterlife" party, I'm reluctant to admit to his one shining quality while still alive: He kept the rest of the world from fucking me over — not that he did a particularly good job of it. But, at least before he was gone, I could count on getting my dose of used, manipulated, and lied to from a single source. Now everybody wants a go at it. _

_I have come to realize something about the old man: More than anything, Dumbledore believed in balance — between light and dark, between fighting for a cause and living a normal life, and between being loved in life and hated in the afterlife._

_Well, I got six years trying to live a normal life and zero towards my cause. It's time to balance that out and with interest. That my decision is the exact opposite, the balance if you will, of what Dumbledore would have for me, is just an ironic kick in his dead arse that almost brings a smile to my face._

_The rest is for you, old man. May you and your good intentions rot in hell._

_xxx_

The world was back underfoot much faster than Harry reasoned it would be. Physically, the trip had been more uncomfortable than outright painful and had grown less so the longer he remained in his Thestral form. Although he'd also noticed a considerable difference in his stream of conscious the longer he remained a Thestral. Blood trails and waterholes weren't common concerns for a recently returned from the dead, sixteen-year-old boy.

It was night when he arrived on the paved roadway. He'd of thought himself out of place if not for the fact that almost no one would be able to see him.

"_Does it look familiar?" _Slytherin sounded winded again.

Harry took in his surroundings, and that same familiar feeling pushed at his mind. This time the recognition came more quickly.

"_Godric's Hollow," Harry_ returned.

He was on the same street Sirius had taken him to after he escaped the Dementor – a more modern version of it at least. Cars replaced carriages and lamps supplanted lanterns. The buildings seemed essentially the same, save for the obvious use of electricity in each. Harry made his way to the head of the street without prompting.

The house that he found was not what he'd been expecting. Though it was obvious that this had once been the place where he met his parents, what stood before him now was a roofless, crumbling pile of mess.

"_Huh,"_ was all Harry could manage.

An empty pit grew in his stomach, which turned to a sensational pain as he reverted from his Thestral form. The hurt was enough to double him over but not nearly as agonizing as the initial transformation.

"Damnit all to bloody hell!" he cried aloud. "A little heads up would be nice."

"_Did that all on your own there, Potter,"_ Slytherin answered.

Harry let out a low growl as he fought against the last of the pain. When he'd decided the pain wasn't going to be a bother anymore, he trudged forward into the wreckage of the home. The tattered building evoked recent memories from Harry; but instead of feeling sad, he turned it into anger. Anger hHe took out his anger on the various ruined pieces of the house beneath him.

"_Finishing the job Voldemort began?" _Slytherin remarked coolly.

"You shut up! You're not real. None of this is!" Harry screamed and threw a ruined picture frame out of the house.

"_Maybe not, but that won't change the fact that you're developing a nasty habit of turning your hurt into hate. Bad form, very bad." _

Harry intentionally ignored Slytherin's voice and slumped onto a pile of wood in front of him. The numerous destroyed artifacts of his parents' lives stared mercilessly at him, prodding at his emotions and forcing him into a terrible struggle with the lump forming in his throat.

"I just need time to think, to sort things out," Harry rambled to himself. "I have to figure out what's happened…happening to me…"

"_If I might suggest…"_

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" Harry cuffed his hands over his head and slammed his eyes shut.

"_If you would just allow me…"_

"Damnit, I said NO!" Harry argued

"_Behind you," _Slytherin drawled.

Harry turned in time to see a short, round man standing over him with a look that suggested he thought Harry was crazy. The man was holding a bat over his head, and by the time Harry realized why, it was already bearing down on his head.

He woke up in a dimly lit room restrained and suffering a piercing headache. His sight blurred in and out of focus as his head discerned whether it was still attached to a body. From what he could make out, the room was a workshop of sorts. The concrete floor was covered with piles of sawdust, and various tools hung from the walls. As Harry continued to search the room, he saw there were also cauldrons and glowing glass orbs. There was a whole shelf of wands neatly set into grooves that held them in place. His wand sat on the edge of the table across from him, the table to which the sole lamp that lit the room was attached. In front of the table was a wooden stool and nothing else.

"_Well, you've convinced me. Gryffindor's thickheaded nature is definitely genetic," _Slytherin said.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked aloud.

"_You mean aside from my studies on the symptoms of the Gryffindor condition?" _

"I mean, what the hell do you want, and why won't you go away?"

"I'm here to help, of course. I thought that would be obvious by now."

"How is having the ancestor of Voldemort in my head supposed to help?" Harry asked.

"_Well now, that's the other reason I'm here," _Slytherin responded. "_You're going to see to it that certain inaccuracies in popular wizarding history are corrected — inaccuracies that my misguided descendant has helped to promote." _

"For all I know, you were planted in my head by Voldemort himself — the same as this bloody scar."

"_Ahh, but had I told you that I was Gryffindor riding the neural tide, you wouldn't be so quick to doubt," _Slytherin responded.

The question forced a pause in Harry. "I'd question any voice that suddenly popped into my head. Or maybe you haven't heard, I've got a history with that. A year of having my head fucked with and my body possessed by the same sick bastard who killed my parents – you could say I have problems with anything that isn't me in my head."

"_Lies don't become you, Harry. You may not be comfortable with our situation, but you didn't answer my question. Were I Godric Gryffindor, or perhaps your beloved Dumbledore, you would not question my presence nearly so much as you do." _

"Maybe not."

"_And why is that?" _

"Because you're the sodding ancestor of the twisted murderer who fed me to a fucking Dementor," Harry screamed.

"And?" 

"And? AND! And, killed my parents, my godfather, my classmate, resurrected himself from my blood, and waged his own cleansing campaign against wizards that aren't members of his private pure-blood country club. And that is just truly ironic seeing as _his_ membership was revoked at birth, just after his inbred mother dotted the t's on her own insanity card and raped some unwitting Muggle to make him. Oh, _AND_, did I mention that he and every other Riddle I've come to know of seemed to get their pointed moral compass from the popular beliefs of SALAZAR FUCKING SLYTHERIN?"

"Colorful and succinct – a rare talent. Knowing the matter at hand is only the half of it. The challenge we face is how to overcome this problem."

"Seems that _you_ getting the hell out of _my_ head would do the trick nicely."

"Even were that an option, I would not be inclined to oblige. Unwilling as you may be to admit it, you need me – and I you. Seeing as the only solution you've offered is not possible would you allow me to make a suggestion?"

"Do I have a choice?" Harry replied

"Despite what you would think, I do not hold to the notion that respect and trust are given. Allow me to explain myself and offer my side of the story that history has so incorrectly told. I ask that you consider my words and my actions since you've returned from the afterlife. Then I will ask that you consider the possibility that there is another option available to us."

"And yet somehow I'm sure that even if I don't buy your story, there will still be only the one option."

"Perhaps. I make no pretense that our situation is revocable, but I would rather it continue on amicable terms."

"I'm listening."

"In this case, I believe it would be more effective if you watched as well – with your permission of course."

Harry took quick stock of his current location and restrained status. "Can't get much worse than this."

Images conjured involuntarily to Harry's mind, a sensation that felt exactly as they did when Snape had performed Legilimency two years prior. Though these weren't being forced out of his head, rather placed into it.

The image of Dumbledore's office came into his mind, though not as the Headmaster's chambers that he knew. There were no portraits on the high walls, nor was Fawkes or his perch anywhere to be seen. A large table had replaced the great desk that sat at the front of the room. Yet the architecture was unmistakable: This was the headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

"Slytherin, your command of the magicks in question are unmatched the world over. Despite that fact, I must take objection to your stance," Godric Gryffindor stated haughtily.

"Gryffindor, dismiss your stubbornness for just this moment. Our quarrel is not a matter of pride, but rather that of safety — safety that can no longer be assured if we continue in this direction," Slytherin argued.

"At best, your findings are anecdotal — you as much as admit this willingly. Yet, you ask me to deny an entire faction of students — one that is growing by the year — a steadfast part of the Hogwarts curriculum. I am wholly unconvinced," Gryffindor replied.

"Do not do that! I am thorough in my work. Simply because I will not lay positive claim to findings that any reasonable witch or wizard would deem convincing does not negate my arguments as anecdotal."

"Slytherin, I tire of this. The decision is made," Gryffindor snapped.

"And what of Helga and Rowena? Have they no say in this decision? Their houses, as much as yours, face this danger."

"They have given me their support."

"Perhaps if the issue were to be discussed with them by someone other than yourself they might come to a different conclusion," Slytherin said coldly.

"Do not question my integrity, Salazar!" Gryffindor stood and slammed his hand onto the table. "I am not in a tolerable mood for your incessant mutiny," he yelled.

"Hogwarts is not yours to reign over, Godric. You would do well to remember that," Slytherin responded coolly and left the office.

The image changed in Harry's mind. The setting was still Hogwarts, but this looked more like the Astronomy Tower.

"Professor, do you think that perhaps a demonstration would help convince the Headmaster?" a teenage wizard asked.

"Don't be stupid, boy. Half-blood or no, we do not offer students as sacrifice for the cause of science," Slytherin replied.

"O-of course not, sir. I was merely suggesting…"

"Do not recant. It only exemplifies your sniveling nature, Prince. You were, in fact, suggesting we provide a live demonstration of facts that we have almost unquestionably discovered."

"Yes, professor," Selias Prince responded meekly.

"If the Headmaster is unwilling to see reason, then we must work quickly to find a resolution to this problem."

"Perhaps, professor, Mudbloods haven't the composition for the noble magicks," Prince offered.

"I have warned you on the use of that word. Were the absurdity of your conjecture not ridiculous, I would have you scrubbing the dungeons."

"I only…"

"Bigotry will not be tolerated, child. Mixed-blood students have time and again proven they are no more or less apt to magical prowess than a pure-blood student. Ability is not the question here, and most certainly neither is their worth. You will see them as equal, or you will doom the eternity of your generations to a miserable existence."

"Yet they are unable to perform the most powerful of magicks – the Noble magic," Selias snipped. "How can they ever survive as equal without the gains from Blood Magic? Occlumency, Legilimency, Animagus, Obliviation, only to name a few. You've just developed new blood magic that allows you the ability to speak with animals. Even if you don't believe this is an issue of their magical power, you must admit it places them at a disadvantage to us pure-blood wizards."

"It is only snakes, not all animals, and if you've learned nothing else during these past decades, you would still be aware of the fact that magic is forever evolving. Should we never discover the ability to perform blood magic amongst the mixed-blooded, their progeny would nonetheless inherit the traits of which you speak of through unions with pure-blood witches and wizards. The entire world is not as narrow minded as you would like to believe, boy. Children will be born of pure-blood and mixed-blood marriage."

"That presumes that they will survive long enough for such evolution to take hold," Selias responded snidely.

Slytherin looked sharply at his student, a look that Prince obviously understood to mean that he had stepped over his boundary. "Enough of this! You remind me that there is sufficient ignorance in this world for my arguments to fall upon nothing save deaf ears. Leave me."

Prince left the room and Slytherin took a stack of parchment to the table and dipped his quill into shimmering black ink. He carefully lettered a title: BLOOD MAGIC: AN EVOLUTION OF THE NOBLE MAGIC AND THE DANGERS TO THE MIXED-BLOODED WIZARD.

Again the scene shifted. Harry found himself looking upon four people seated around a plain table at the head of the Great Hall. Slytherin sat alone on one side across from what Harry assumed to be Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff to either side of Gryffindor.

Gryffindor rose quickly to his feet and threw a bound stack of parchment across the table at Slytherin. "Curse you, Salazar! Have you any idea the ramifications of your impulsiveness?"

Slytherin didn't flinch as the parchment bounced off his chest. His face remained still and his voice calm. "I did only what was necessary."

A tremendous thud echoed through the hall as every other table in the great hall snapped in half from Gryffindor's rage, causing both ladies to flinch. "You've irrevocably undermined the integrity of our institution!"

Slytherin was unfazed. "So now it's our institution?"

"Salazar, don't be dull. Never has there been a question as to the equal share we all have in Hogwarts," Hufflepuff said.

"Perhaps. Or maybe our Headmaster has allowed yet another one of his silly titles to seep further grandiosity into that thick head," Slytherin said.

Gryffindor opened his mouth, but Helga managed to speak before he could. "You know very well that is not the case," she chastised. "Furthermore, his position as Headmaster is a mere formality to establish a precedence for the future of this institution. He no more fills the role than any one of us, something we settled long ago. All decisions have been and will remain agreed upon by consensus amongst the four of us." She finished and placed her hand on Gryffindor's forearm, tugging him back into his seat.

"So it was consensus that we would continue to teach Blood Magic to all of our students, despite the fact that mixed-blood students could very well die as a result?" Slytherin asked.

"That is a gross misstatement, and you know it," Gryffindor snapped.

"When you refused to see reason simply on the face of misguided nobility, you forced my hand," Slytherin said.

"Forced your hand?" Gryffindor spat. "What you have done has ruined the very foundation that has kept Hogwarts together."

Slytherin ignored the other man's screaming and looked calmly to the dark-haired witch across from him. "Rowena, you must see the logic in my actions. Clearly the evidence presented in my work shows the dangers in continuing to teach students blood magic," Slytherin argued.

"I do, Salazar. But why didn't you come to me with this before sharing it with all of wizarding society. The accusations you make in this decree would have us as trying to kill off mixed-blood students," Ravenclaw responded. "Your actions have put us in a position where no good resolution can be realized."

"Had you presented this to all of us, we might have reconsidered our position," Hufflepuff argued.

"Then I am sorry. Gryffindor as much as told me that your decisions were made. I saw no other option. It is known throughout the world that blood magic is my specialty. The eminent danger of this continued practice at Hogwarts is reckless. More so, the blame for the incalculable deaths that would occur would have fallen on me. I was forced into a corner by your shortsightedness."

"Our decision was made Slytherin. People do not see the world as equations and potion ingredients as you do. Granting tuition in blood magic to only pure-blood students would have encouraged the misguided prejudices of wizarding society. Furthermore, it would have made it seem as if Hogwarts endorsed those beliefs," Gryffindor said.

"But the sudden crop of dead mixed-blood students would have garnered no ill will?"

"Don't be stupid. We would have been able to influence those students in danger away from the practice," Gryffindor responded.

"You mean manipulate."

"I will not allow you to make me the villain, Salazar!" Gryffindor roared. "No more than you have already done to each of us with your foolish politics."

Salazar rose to his feet and pointed his finger sharply across the table. "Politics! Politics do not dabble in truth, this you know best, Godric. If it seems the truth of my findings is damning to each of you, than that is a burden you must bear."

"Enough!" Rowena screamed. "There is nothing to be gained from assigning blame! Our situation is precarious enough with the prejudices abound in wizarding society. We have been fortunate to remain outside of the problem this long. It is a luxury we can no longer claim. Passivity has led us to this situation, and now we all must come to terms with how to carry forth."

Slytherin took a calming breath and returned to his seat. "What would you suggest?"

"You stated in your findings that it is not certain blood magic cannot eventually be practiced by non-pure-blood students. You said that due to the inconsistent composition of magical blood in mixed-blood wizards, the currently accepted parameters of blood magic no longer apply."

"This is correct," Slytherin stated.

"Is it possible that with time and further research you may be able to discover a practicable form of the magic for mixed-blood wizards?"

"It is possible, but you know as well as I do what that would mean. Considering the contested social standing of mixed-blood wizards, such research would surely be misconstrued as an act of genocide — especially at an institution where children would be the subjects of these experiments," Slytherin argued.

"Yet, our other options are hardly more appealing," Rowena said.

"If we no longer teach blood magic at Hogwarts, we risk losing a form of magic that has awarded us with unprecedented advances in our command of the arts. If we only teach blood magic to pure-blood students, we risk creating an actual, rather than perceived, gap in magical power between them and the mixed-blood students," Helga said.

"Or we could subvert the practice amongst mixed-blood students until a new form of blood magic is found for them, while at the same time reducing the tutelage amongst the pure-blood students so that no true gap is created," Gryffindor mocked and waited for a response on each of his peers faces before continuing. "No, I'm mistaken. Such a tactful solution was lost when Slytherin's ambitious treatise was shared with greater society."

"Do shut up, Godric," Rowena snapped. "If you cannot contribute to a solution, than do not contribute at all."

"No, Rowena, let the ignorant preach. It serves their pride and makes their image of the world so much simpler," Slytherin said. "Please, Godric, I beg carry forward with your solution."

"Do not test me, Salazar."

"Sincerely. I wish for you to explain to me how this new form of blood magic was to be discovered while you're subverting."

"You know very well how."

"Of course I do. That is not the question. I wish to know if you do," Slytherin said.

"The same way as the original rules of blood magic were found."

"And on who would we study – the students of your house? Surely their bravado would be acclaimed for advances in the name of magic. I can think of no more noble a cause."

"You are pushing…"

"Or perhaps on Rowena's students, satiating their voracious pursuit of knowledge with their own lives."

Godric's face contorted into greater expressions of anger with each word.

"No, after all it would be me who was responsible for the discovery of this new blood magic. It would only be fair that my students volunteer." Slytherin finished and a heavy silence settled over the group. The two men stared unflinchingly at each other. As soon as Gryffindor opened his mouth, Slytherin spoke up to interrupt him. "By Merlin, I've got it! We can charm that ridiculous hat of yours to select a crop of students each year for my studies!

"Salazar!" Helga scolded. "Stop this at once."

Slytherin sat firmly against the back of his chair, arms folded and a stern impatient glare on his face. "I am tired of being treated as shortsighted; it is a trait that my counterpart suffers, save for political competition. I am a scholar and an alchemist. My priorities lay first in the continued advance of magical knowledge and second in the safety of all our students. If that means upsetting things, then so be it."

"If what you say is true, then perhaps you will not find what I wish to propose in bad favor," Rowena stated.

Slytherin looked into Rowena's eyes and with only a hint of Legilimency knew what she was going to suggest. "If I am unsuccessful, you know what that will mean," he said.

"It is you who has put everything on the line for us. It seems fair that you should carry the burden of finding a proper solution to this dilemma," Rowena responded.

Gryffindor let out a sigh. "The risk is too great. The likelihood of Salazar's success is too slim to chance the potential scar this would most probably place on Hogwarts."

Helga looked into the eyes of her counterparts and understood what was being suggested. "I cannot agree to this. We have overcome too many difficulties together to believe that we are better served solving this problem as individuals."

"I fear that you are wrong, Helga. The prejudice in our society is too great for me to pursue this magic in an establishment so set in the public eye," Slytherin said. "I will take my leave of Hogwarts and travel back to my homeland."

"Are you certain of this, Salazar?" Gryffindor asked, concern obvious in his voice.

"I am, but I must require a condition." He looked specifically to Gryffindor. "More than anything, I do not want to see blood magic lost to our kind. So I suggest that all of the students of pure-blood who wish to continue with this magic be placed into one house."

Slytherin watched the expressions of disagreement grow over each of his friend's faces. "I understand the implications of this. However, with these students collected together it will be easier to keep watch over them and to teach them from the onset the importance of equity amongst all wizards."

"You are compounding the dangers of our situation by asking this, Salazar," Rowena stated.

"I believe it is a fair imposition considering the burden of resolution is falling largely on me," he replied.

"We will agree to this, but only so long as it does not create a problem that threatens to grow out of our control," Gryffindor said. "Is there any further discussion?"

Both witches at Gryffindor's side remained silent, reluctance evident on their faces. Salazar stood and turned away from the group. "Until the next time we see each other," he said and walked out of the Great Hall.

The Great Hall faded away and was replaced by a location Harry had not seen before. It was a great room with bare stone floors and several rows of unfinished wood shelves lining all four walls. Parchment was strewn across one of the two large tables in the center of the room; the second table held two large cauldrons – both filled with boiling contents.

A young, dark-skinned witch stirred one of the cauldrons. "Do you think this will work, Salazar?" Harry couldn't place her accent. "Do you think I will finally be able to perform the animagus transformation?"

"We have laboured over our work intensively, and I am hopeful that this attempt will be successful. Nonetheless, we must not be hasty. More so than any prior attempt, you are in danger. We will not risk a dose sufficient enough to enable you the transformation. First we ensure that it doesn't kill you – a dead cat does me no good."

The woman fixed Slytherin with a hard glare. "I will not be a cat, no matter how often you tease me so."

"Have I been wrong before?" Slytherin teased back.

"No, but in this instance you've also never been right," she said. A silence fell over them as the double meaning of her words set in. The girl cleared her voice and set her stirrer to the side of the cauldron. She picked up one of the smallest cups on the table. "A quarter portion then?" she asked.

"I am not so sure, perhaps further testing," Slytherin said.

"Salazar, we have tested larger doses of unsuccessful blood potions before. Please don't let past failures dissuade you now. We've come too far."

"Very well, but drink slowly and pay attention to what you experience. A burning sensation is to be expected; any other discomfort is not."

She raised the cup to her mouth and slowly began sipping. Slytherin watched with painful anticipation. Slowly she drained the contents of the container until it was empty. A silent pause. "I don't feel anything at all."

"Nothing?"

"No, nothing. It's unusual. I can feel the potion settled in my stomach, and I can feel as it dissolves, but I am not experiencing any other sensation."

Slytherin noticeably exhaled. "That would be the case were a pure-blood wizard to consume an inadequate amount of the blood potion. It's possible that we may have found the first mixed-blood animagus blood potion." While he still carefully examined the girl, his eyes displayed a hint of excitement.

But then her eyes took on a look of shock, and she doubled over while covering her mouth. Her face began to turn blue, and she looked up to Salazar with pleading eyes that weren't ready to accept the inevitable.

Salazar ran to her side. "No." He shook his head and forced her to remove her hands from her mouth. Immediately a mouthful of blood and vomit poured onto him and the floor between them. "NO!" He screamed.

"Salazar." Her voice was ragged and his name came out in broken gargles as more blood continued to pour from her mouth.

"This can't happen again. Not to you,"

She fell to the floor at Slytherin's feet and began convulsing violently. The wizard searched the room for help he knew wasn't there. His eyes were wide, and his face was painted in an expression that was unwilling to accept the inescapable truth. She stopped shaking and let forth a heaving throaty gurgle as she went limp.

Salazar pushed the hair out of her face. It would have looked tender had it not smeared blood across her cheek. He stood, walked away from the body, and left the room.

Harry felt Slytherin's stream of thought lift from his mind and the setting of his confinement returned clearly to view. After watching such a violent and revolting death, he couldn't feel quite as distressed about his own imprisonment. It struck him odd how graphic death had such a wilting effect on his selfish concerns.

"After the girl fell, I couldn't bring myself to continue," Slytherin said. "Not that the option would have been there had I wanted it."

"Who was she?" Harry asked.

"Her name is of no concern to you. However, she was a person of renown in her time. The pain of her death to me was the only thing more damaging than the repercussions from it."

"What repercussions?"

"She meant to champion my cause. By the time she came to me, my reputation for having distaste towards mixed-bloods was readily becoming accepted as fact. She was Gryffindor's prized apprentice and as such knew from him that the reputation was false. When she learned the truth of the situation, she became obsessed, as much with correcting the falsity as being the first mixed-blood to master blood magic. It seems she had as much ambition as bravery."

"I can't believe that if all this were true, not a word of it, not even a mere semblance would have survived through the inaccuracies of history," Harry said.

"That is a fair doubt. Consider Merlin. History would have you believe that there has been nay a wizard as powerful as he through all of time. The truth is, Merlin would be considered barely a more capable wizard in your day than an average fourth-year Hogwart's student. The exaggeration is born from the perspective."

"What does that mean?"

"Merlin was a powerful wizard in his time. But more importantly, he was a powerful wizard for one of the greatest and longest lasting empires in all of the ages. Magic had centuries to evolve from Merlin's time. New magic was found and created, and old magic was mastered or lost. Wizards have for hundreds of years improved their abilities, and more to the point have improved upon Merlin's abilities. What remained constant was the legacy, and those who favored Merlin held the power to keep that legacy for a very long time."

"So you're saying that just because Merlin played for the winning team everything about him was exaggerated for the better?" Harry said doubtfully.

"Not entirely. There was, of course, some truth to his story. But the truth history tells would be considerably less interesting if it weren't spiced up; and the longer that one empire holds the power to write history, the greater those exaggerations are likely to become."

"Then you're trying to convince me that you're the exception," Harry stated smugly.

"Don't be foolish, Harry. The central issue from which I departed Hogwarts revolved around purity of blood. Many mixed-blood wizards died under my study. The most divisive problem in the wizarding world at the time was the prejudice mixed-bloods suffered. But most importantly, I was one of the four most prominent wizards of my age and the only one who was not actively championing the cause for equality. Throw in the fact that the house named after me was populated entirely by pure-bloods, bigots for the most, season with time and toss for a couple hundred years and presto, Spurned Slytherin Salad."

"Why didn't Gryffindor and the others just tell everyone the truth? For that matter, why wouldn't you simply take a stand for yourself? If you were actually trying so hard to find a way for mixed-bloods to be able to do blood magic like you say, I would think that people would have understood the sacrifices."

"Another fair question, young Harry. Remember that the condition of my leaving Hogwarts was to find a solution to the blood magic problem, so that the school did not have to face it in full view of society. Despite my obvious objections, Gryffindor did choose to subvert the teachings from mixed-blood students while also keeping the pure-blood students ignorant of the gap this was creating between them and the mixed-bloods. By only allowing the most exceptional pure-blood students the right to study blood magic, Gryffindor and the rest were able to pass off the selective nature of the teachings as being skill based. The occasional mixed-blood who came along with sufficient skill and desire to challenge the founders was dealt with harshly.

"Harshly?"

"These were different times. It was not an era when the protestations of a child were given latitude. The founders would simply make known to the child that under no circumstances were they going to grant tuition in blood magic, even at the cost of expulsion. And regardless of inequity, ours was not a time when a mixed-blood was likely to speak against anything that a pure-blood, much less a founder, said."

"That still doesn't explain why you at least couldn't speak up for yourself. Obviously, your legacy is important to you. Otherwise, I wouldn't be a minority in my own head."

"Tom is no more in your head than the albatross of guilt you carry unduly."

"Tell me that the next time we're over his place for a round of kill Potter. He's practically got a timeshare overlooking that bloody scar…"

"…and that is something we will remedy. As for me not correcting the allegations, I have only my pride to blame. I was so confident I would be able to spite all of the doubters by providing a new form of blood magic that I held my tongue. My desire to make them seem the fools that they were cost me everything…and when she fell, I hadn't the will left to fight to get it back."

"Perhaps," Harry said, knowing that his tone wouldn't carry the conviction of his spoken doubt.

"I imagine you can feel my glare?" Slytherin replied smugly.

"Fine, say I believe you … what do you think I can do to help change a thousand years worth of belief? I don't know if you've kept up with the times, but I can tell you that the both the mixed-bloods and the pure-bloods who hate them aren't going to want to accept this – particularly not from me."

"The bridge of lies is held together by a single keystone – should we pull upon it, the axiom around which the rest stands; without fail, the rest will fall."

"You are going to show me where there is proof that you did not hate mixed-bloods?" Harry asked.

"You are the proof, Mr. Potter."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Harry exclaimed.

"Coming back from the afterlife as you did has a very unique affect on a person."

"You mean the gut-wrenching despair and matching death-wish, the uncontrollable rage with the auto air-conditioning feature, and the built in blood detector housed inside a Thestral suit? Is there more? Really … I'm tingling all over with anticipation!"

"You can't die. At least, in as much as Voldemort can't die. 'Either must die at the hand of the other,' Harry. Your trip to the afterlife has solidified that the prophecy be interpreted in quite a literal manner."

"What does that have to do with me being your proof?" Harry snapped.

"Quite simple. If you can't die, then a blood potion gone wrong can't kill you.

"So I'm to be a lab rat for you to experiment on?"

"Don't look at it so narrowly. It was through advancements in blood magic that Occlumency and Legilimency were created. Animagus, Apparition, Parseltongue, all of these through blood magic."

"But I can learn to do these without blood magic."

"Yes, because the magic has evolved through thousands of years so that nearly all wizards and witches can learn it. But with blood magic, there is no learning. The ability is imbibed; all that is left to learn is how you will master the magic within yourself."

"So I drink a potion, and just like that I can do Occlumency and Legilimency?"

"That would be two potions, but they are very similar. In short, yes."

"Am I going to have to vomit blood and go into seizures like Gryffindor's apprentice?"

Harry felt a flash of anger, then sadness – neither his own.

"Most likely, but without the unfortunate side effect of dying", Slytherin admitted.

"Charming. I can't wait."


	6. Immortal with a 50 Chance of Death

**Author's Notes: **"The Lisa725" continues to share her beta skills; I continue to share my gratitude for them.

The last chapter got a noticeable downturn in feedback. Though perhaps there's not much to be said about a hashing out of my version of Hogwart's a History. Still, I hope it was enjoyable, and believable enough. Enjoy the latest. I look forward to hearing any feedback!

Many thanks to Von and Jinawee! Von, here's the answer to your question on what type of person goes about braining folk late at night, atop the ruins of a house, with a muggle bat. Jinawee, a thanks for saying the history twist was interesting. I appreciate your reviews.

**Chapter 6 – Immortal with a 50 Chance of Death**

_The human mind is a remarkable thing, which rings particularly true if you've had yours prodded, possessed, and currently … populated. Yet of all those unlikely things, the characteristic that strikes me most about my mind is how it's been conditioned._

_I know. That's a pretty bold statement coming from someone who is not quite seventeen years old. Hear me out. _

_The greater part of the first eleven years of my life was spent in a cupboard under the stairs. It was a charming arrangement, though a bit cramped had I wanted to share with an imaginary friend._

_What I remember the most though is the dark. At first, I was scared to death of it. Eventually I grew to find comfort in it and to embrace it. I found that there in the dark I was safe from rejection, safe from being hurt again. In the dark I learned to find myself – and I don't mean in that, "hey, what's this thing in my trousers do," kind of way. But at eleven years of age, self-discovery is hardly therapeutic. It wasn't until I really had to cope with being the Boy Who Lived that I began to understand what those years alone in the dark instilled. How it conditioned me for what I was to be._

_Hermione tells me I have a hero complex. For a time, I thought she was right, mostly because I wasn't likely to argue with someone whom I'd hardly ever known to be wrong. But during this last year with Dumbledore, I began to wonder if that was really the case. Now I'm not so certain. I think it was because of all the years in the dark, all those years alone, all those years of conditioning: My mind simply knows what has to be done, and it does it. It helps that when you're the Boy Who Lived most of your decisions center around saving your life or those of the others unfortunate enough to know you. And since I'm forced to continue playing that role, it just could have been that conditioning that got me through. _

_But here's the giant cosmic rub: I can't fucking die … technicalities aside. _

_After Dumbledore died, I knew that I had to go it alone till the end. The situation was clear; my mind knew the situation, and it knew what had to be done. All those years of conditioning alone in the dark provided exactly what I needed to finish this … alone again. _

_But now? Immortal! There's no conditioning for that! I go it alone to keep my friends safe – they die. I accept their help – they die. I do nothing – THEY DIE! _

_Eleven years in the dark helps you cope with rejection, it helps you cope with ridicule and ostracism, and it perhaps gives you enough to face a Dark Lord by your lonesome. But what's eleven years alone in the dark compared to a life of unending loss? How do I handle knowing that no matter what decision I make, the people I love will always die? _

_What's the conditioning for that? How do I go on when the entire world has just become another cupboard underneath the stairs?_

_xxx_

After their talk, Slytherin left Harry to his silent contemplation. It was only the second time since his return that there'd been an opportunity to consider what was happening to him. Unfortunately, it was impossible to think past the fact he was tied up and bound to a stool in an unfamiliar place. He'd tried using his magic against the ropes to no avail.

There was a shuffling across the room that sounded like footsteps. Silence. A moment later, the person attached to those feet stepped _soundlessly_ from the shadow blanketing the room past the luminance of the desk lamp next to Harry. He was a short man, barely a head taller than Harry as he sat on the stool, and unnaturally pale. The black hair atop his head was so sparse you could see where each follicle met the scalp. It fell into the thicker mat of hair that grew from his crown, and it all clumped together as it extended past his shoulders. He wasn't quite fat as much as he was stocky, but his short stature didn't disperse the weight well, giving more of a waddle to his movements than a true walk. The resulting look was wholly remarkable if only for its improbable awkwardness.

"Seems like a cracking daisy this one," the man said, though his eyes looked over Harry's head and into the shadow behind him. His voice had a nasal wheeze to it that was as unappealing as his outward appearance.

Taken by the fact that the man's voice actually fit with the package, Harry was at a complete loss for words. Regardless, it didn't seem as if the man was addressing him.

For the first time, Harry was glad to have another person in his head.

"_I…I've got nothing," _Slytherin mumbled in an uneven tone.

_Figures. _Harry was mostly disappointed he hadn't seen that coming.

"Too right, rambling on to no one in particular this one is," The man continued. "Perhaps not worth the magic, definitely tainted. Tainted mind, tainted magic they say."

Harry watched the man intensely. He noticed that the fellow didn't maintain eye contact with any particular spot in the room as he spoke, and he certainly wasn't looking back at Harry. Every so often, he would jerk his head over his shoulder to glance at something. Harry could only presume it was something the man thought was hiding in the dark.

"Nothing to say now? Before the wizard's carrying on like he's auditioning for the straightjacket," He said.

"_Forget chewing on your elbow, Harry. Short-n-round here is the new standard measure for Barmy,"_ Slytherin said.

Harry's frustration came to a boil. All he wanted was a moment to figure out what was happening to him, and as far as he could determine it was this man who had now twice interrupted that process.

"What in the hell are you babbling about?" Harry lashed out. "And more importantly, why am I tied up?"

"Much more familiar, perhaps the wizard is not so tainted after all … or maybe just mostly tainted," The man said, shooting another quick glance over his shoulder. Seeing nothing, he nodded an affirmation to a question Harry wasn't sure was ever asked.

The man still wasn't looking at him, but it was obvious now that he was talking to him.

"I'm not ruddy tainted you wobbly git," Harry barked, lowering his head so he could stare up at the man darkly. "But I promise you'll see something much worse than that if you don't free me at once."

The man quickly shifted his guise from quirky and unsure to a menacing sneer as he lunged at Harry. Suddenly, almost faster than Harry could see, the man was upon him, lips pressed against the corner of Harry's mouth. It forced a gasp out of Harry, the man had moved with a speed and precision that seemed impossible from someone of his stature.

"Not if first I gut you like a frog and paint this room with your entrails," he hissed against Harry's mouth.

The contact forced Harry to pull away and turn his head, grimacing as he felt the lingering sensation of the man's lips on his. He turned his eyes towards the man and saw that his captor was staring madly back at him; a piece of his thin, scraggly hair was caught in the corner of his mouth.

"_Try to maintain contact with his eyes, Harry," _Slytherin ordered hastily.

Harry wanted to do that about as much as he'd wanted that near kiss from the crazy bastard. But it didn't matter: No sooner had Slytherin instructed him than the man stood up and looked away.

"What says the wizard? Ready to beg, or has the new breed risen above their cowardly ways?"

"Now would be a good time to show me that 'being here to help' thing, Slytherin," Harry said.

"Oh, ho ho! The wizard talks to himself again?" He stepped away from Harry and looked down curiously. His once snarling features had been replaced with the quirky, wide-eyed stare he'd held before. "Slytherin, he says. A familiar name for sure."

"_For future reference, it might be in the interest of self-preservation that you choose to converse with me solely from within your head," _Slytherin responded.

"_Is that all you have? A great bloody help you are," _Harry snapped.

"_I do what I can". _

"Yes, today's forecast, slightly creepy with a definite chance of dagenham." The man patted Harry mockingly on his head. "So what says Slytherin, hmm, young man? Back to finish the job, reincarnate through a skinny little nothing of a wizard. How … unimposing – a Slytherin notion if there ever was one."

"_I think that we shall make this fat man suffer, Harry," _Slytherin sneered.

"Piss on you both!" Harry screamed. He lunged at the man, pulling as far as his restraints would allow. "Let me go, or I swear it will be the end of you!"

In a flash, the snarling man was back in Harry's face, his hands wrapped tightly around Harry's neck. The grip seemed tight enough to Harry that he should be panicking for loss of air, but his body wasn't convulsing for life's breath. Instinctively, Harry wanted to thrash and fight his way loose of the man's grip. Yet aside from the discomfort, he wasn't suffering any further affect — not from the loss of air and certainly not from fear that he was in mortal danger. Somehow he knew this wasn't a threat to him, so he settled on staring fiercely into the man's eyes.

"_Good, Harry…yes! I've got it," _Slytherin said quickly.

What Slytherin got didn't matter to Harry. His rage was in full affect again, and the last of the Potters was eager to cast it upon the man hoping to choke him to death.

The man paused, his eyes stopped burning with determination, and his crooked, manic smile slowly straightened. His eyes flashed wide, and deftly, the man pulled away from Harry. He gasped, uncertainty and fear evident on his face. A small grunt eventually grew to a loud groan as he shifted his shocked stare from Harry to his hands, which were now held open and towards him. His breath began to show in the air, which caused an entirely knew look of disbelief to grow on his face. Stumbling away from Harry, he began to search the room frantically.

Harry felt his fury bubble over, consuming him just as it had when he was fighting the Dementors. The site of the scraggly man panicking before him returned a sense of righteous satisfaction. The restraints that bound his wrists and ankles grew brittle as they froze against Harry's skin, snapping easily when Harry tugged against them.

Free at last, Harry stood and began to stalk his prey. As his captor, the man's scraggly hair and disproportionate frame had given him the threatening look of mad man. As he cowered before Harry now, stumbling and awkward, these features merely made him appear weak.

It would make the kill slightly less satisfying, but that was something Harry could look past.

"_Let's not be impulsiv,e, Harry," _Slytherin said.

"You shut up, Slytherin," Harry replied coldly.

"_You must control this unfettered rage, boy," _Slytherin said forcefully.

The harsh tone didn't have the same power over him that Harry had felt earlier. "Oh, I intend to control my rage all over this bastard's face. It'll be a picture of restraint when I gut _**this**_ little shit like a frog and paint the room with _**his**_entrails," Harry hissed. His response elicited firm eye contact from the man for the first time since Harry had gotten free.

"_If you kill him in an act of rage, it makes you worse than Voldemort". _

"Terrific for me that your opinion means nothing," Harry responded.

"Suit yourself; at least Voldemort kills with a purpose. If this is what you will become, a mindless killer, than I have made a mistake. You are not worthy of my help, and my legacy is of no matter in a world that would harbor two Dark Lords."

Harry stopped. Slytherin's words hadn't so much reached him on a rational level as they had forced a split in his fury between the man before him and the specter residing in his head.

"I'm going to kill him because only a moment ago he was trying to do the same to me. Voldemort would kill him just for being different," Harry snapped.

"You want to kill because it is easier than trying to control your rage. You kill out of hate – a hate that has nothing to do with this man. You would make him the target of your wrath simply because he has had the misfortune of bearing witness to it."

"Voldemort?" The man whispered before Harry, his facial expression changing to reflect a newfound confusion amongst his pain.

"Kill him if it is your will, but to do so without learning what he knows and his motivations is just mindless murder.

"Arrggghhh!" Harry screamed, clinching his fists and forcing his eyes shut.

The air crackled around him and the room temperature dropped dramatically. Suddenly, the shadows in the room shifted from floor to ceiling, and a loud tin bang rang out. Harry turned to face the sound and saw that the desk behind him was now reduced to dust; the light that had once rested upon it now lay half broken atop the pile. As he took in the disintegrated remnants of the desk, a guttural yell bellowed at his back. Harry turned just in time to see the man charging him with a sword as long as the man was tall.

There was no chance at avoiding the attack. The sword was through him, and he was being forced backwards before he could even think to establish his feet beneath him.

He reached the wall with a thud that knocked the wind from him and forced a splash of blood to fly from his mouth and onto the face of his attacker. Harry looked down at the man; the top of his head barely reached Harry's shoulders.

Letting loose the sword from his grip, the scraggly haired man stood back and saw that the scabbard was firmly planted in the wall just as he had desired. He looked up at Harry, breathing heavy, visible breaths, "First, the wizard is gutted."

Harry coughed and tasted the metallic tinge of blood in his mouth. His body immediately began the assessment of how grievous his injury was. It hurt, surprisingly in a similar fashion as the Cruciatus hurt, only now it was focused around a single location. But the symptoms of his injury never worsened. No coughing or convulsing and nothing tingled. He didn't cramp or lose the use of any of his parts; and when he looked down to the wound, he saw that it wasn't bleeding out. He swallowed to clear the taste of blood from his mouth and then forced another cough to intentionally cause his body to react to the wound. Nothing happened.

Being told you're all but immortal by a voice in your head has a certain surrealistic quality to it that truly can't be explained; however, even that doesn't do justice to how frighteningly unreal the moment is when you actually live through an example of it.

"You know, if you killed him now without questioning him first I wouldn't think less of you for it," Slytherin deadpanned.

Harry didn't know what to say, and apparently neither did the man before him. The triumphant look fell quickly from his eyes, as he seemed to realize Harry wasn't hurt.

"What in the hell are you?" he screamed.

The whimpering, pleading man returned to form in front of Harry and reminded him what his intentions had been prior to the desk to dust trick. He leaned forward, pulling his body the length of the blade until the hilt of the sword pressed against his stomach.

"Haven't you heard? I'm The Boy Who Lived – over and over again," Harry replied. He pried the sword from the wall. Then he pulled the sword out of him, paying close attention to the shooting sensations his body sent him as he did so. Once it was free from his body, he raised the sword over his head and stepped within swinging range of the man.

The man fell to his knees and his trembling completely stopped as he assumed a prone form beneath Harry. He lowered his head and took a long breath that floated back over his face in the cold air. "To new beginnings," he murmured.

The sudden surrender caused a pause in Harry. "Who are you?" he barked.

"The name was Filmore Trynsington, though they once called me the Wizard Hunterh" he replied calmly.

Both names were unfamiliar to Harry. "Why do you kneel? Why give up?" Harry asked. The sword was still raised above his head, though it was no longer cocked for a finishing blow.

Filmore didn't look up to notice. "This is a good death. No shame in this. Many have fallen beneath me, defeated, yet groveling for an opportunity that was not there. This will not end in such a manner."

Harry lowered the sword and placed it beneath the man's throat. He pushed upward against the flesh, forcing the man to a stand. "Sit down." Harry motioned to the stool behind him. He watched the man look past him, at something over his shoulder. Harry reacted by diverting the pressure of the blade from upward to sideways, forcing his target to circle around him, in the opposite direction from where he was looking, and then to the chair.

Filmore's eyes flashed cold as he was forced into the seat by the blade. "Do not underestimate submission in defeat as a sign of weakness, wizard."

Harry betrayed no reaction to the man's statement. "Why are you here?"

"The guest arrives unwanted and asks his host what is his business. Humph," Filmore scoffed and then looked pointedly down at the stool and back to Harry. "Because the blade coaxed me so." He turned his eyes down to the sword still held at his throat.

"Don't test me, little man." He pushed the blade hard enough to break the skin at the man's neck. "This home is not yours. Don't lie to me!"

"A home, the wizard says. No, the home that was is not mine. Hidden was this pile of debris. Uncovered its secrets, and after nearly two decades, I claim what is here as my own."

"He is confused by you, Harry. His mind is an utter wreck, but he is specifically confounded by the fact that you are able to be here," Slytherin noted. "He said 'hidden' and that he 'uncovered secrets,' phrases he would not have added unless he thought you might know something about them."

Harry considered this information. "You say you've been in this place for almost twenty years. This location was unreachable to anyone who wasn't welcome here in that time. How do you explain this?"

The man's mouth parted with disbelief, and then he twitched as he looked behind him quickly. When his eyes returned forward, he again wouldn't look Harry in the eyes. He smiled. "So young. How does the wizard know things that are surely before his time? Does Slytherin speak these things to him?"

Harry slapped the flat end of the sword beneath the man's chin. "Look at me when you talk!" he snapped.

Filmore didn't comply.

Harry brought the sword down further to slap the man beneath his chin harder, but Filmore moved his head and lunged at Harry as the sword flew past his face. Before Harry could react, he felt a shooting pain at the base of his wrist where the man had struck him soundly. Filmore then used the palm of his other hand to strike the base of the sword. With his hand incapacitated by the blow to his wrist, the sword flew upward out of Harry's grip until it stuck into the ceiling above them.

Harry took two steps away from Filmore and settled into a stance he hoped would prepare him for the follow-up strike. Filmore looked at him and cocked his head to the side. He let out a small laugh and then returned to the stool. "Perhaps the wizard's abilities have been overestimated."

"What the fuck?" Harry screamed, confused.

"The wizard wanted to kill; surrendered I did. The wizard wanted to talk; spoke did I. The wizard wants to slap me around," he looked up into Harry's eyes. "I break your wrist and take away your paddle." Filmore looked back down to the floor. "Were the wizard not immune to hurt, I'd have you begging for death," he mumbled.

Harry opened and closed the fist on the hand that Filmore had struck. There was still a tinge of discomfort, but it certainly wasn't broken. Harry wasn't sure if he was more impressed by the feat the unimposing man had accomplished in disarming him so effortlessly, or that he was able to notice that Harry's hand wasn't broken even before he did.

Harry saw his wand on the floor atop the pile of dust that used to be the desk and summoned it to him. Filmore eyed Harry's actions carefully. He briefly looked to the sword stuck in the ceiling, then back down to the room, all the while never looking to Harry's face.

For a moment, Harry thought about holding the man at wand point, from a distance to be sure, but then decided against it. He pocketed his wand and made his way across the room opposite from the man, where he leaned against the far wall.

There was a short bout of silence between them. When Harry opened his mouth to speak, he was beaten to it.

"The wizard says those who were not welcomed could not find this place. The wizard claims the home was unreachable. Perhaps you wizards should communicate a little better amongst yourselves. Explain the meaning of your words. It seemed quite clear that the wizard who slaughtered the family that once lived in this house wasn't aware of these rules."

Harry's could feel his heart begin to thump in his throat. Rage beat against his will and begged that he lash out. The room grew unbearably cold again, and the wall began to freeze behind Harry. His features contorted into a snarl.

"Perhaps, I should learn not to upset this wizard," Filmore added quickly.

"You saw Voldemort kill my parents?" Harry growled.

Filmore's eyes shot to Harry in disbelief. "You are the baby who was taken from this burning home?"

"Answer my question!"

Filmore looked down at his hands. "That is how you are able to find this place. You were here before it disappeared." He nodded an affirmation to his conclusion before he looked back up at Harry. "Yes, boy, saw the fight I did."

"Harry, I'm beginning to understand this Muggle's confusion. I think that your parent's house remained under the Fidelus charm even after their death —perhaps because Pettigrew reverted to his Animagus form immediately after he betrayed them. I'm not sure, but it seems the magic wasn't able to fall. Yet somehow this Muggle worked his way around them." Slytherin sounded impressed

Harry forced himself to take calming breaths. The implications of Slytherin's comment didn't seem likely. But it wasn't as if his mind was in any form to argue. "This house would have remained unplottable after my parents' death." Harry tried to sound confident. "How where you able to find it?"

"You wizards think your magic to be infallible. In the end, it is a science just like everything else on this earth," Filmore replied. "Discover its workings, and then work around it."

"Interesting. This Muggle claims to have figured out magic. They have come a long way since my time. As it seems this little man may be a bit more than you can handle, perhaps you would want to consider using him as a resource."

Harry chose to ignore the suggestion. "You still haven't explained to me what you're doing in my parents' home." Harry's voice was still tinged with anger.

"This is not a home," Filmore responded contritely.

"Fine." Harry sighed. "What are you doing **here**?"

"I live here," the man said with a small, toothy smile.

An image of pulling the man's frozen throat from his neck flashed through Harry's mind. He'd suffered too much to be played with by this man; and as far as he could see, there wasn't a good reason not to just dispose of him and be on with what had to be done.

"Will you not at least acknowledge my suggestion?" Slytherin asked in response to Harry's imaginings.

A compromise then. "Filmore, is it? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now," Harry stated.

"This Voldemort fellow, is he the one they called the Dark Lord?"

"Yes."

"He killed your parents?"

"Yes."

"I spent the first five years of my life in this place killing his servants."

"It's hard being right all the time."

Harry didn't know what to say. His first inclination was to not believe the man, but Slytherin wasn't so arrogant that he wouldn't tell Harry if the man was lying. His mind tried to wrap around all the different possible things this meant. The notion of it seemed so preposterous that in the end he found that he couldn't assemble a coherent judgment of it all.

"Why?" Harry asked. It seemed to summarize his confusion succinctly.

"Wizards are horrible creatures," Filmore scowled. "They believe themselves to be better than humans. They kill indiscriminately and use human pain for their entertainment." Filmore looked into Harry's eyes. "They come in the night and kill parents and their babies. Creatures such as this don't deserve to live."

The new information didn't particularly clear things up.

"Besides, it beats driving the trolley."

Harry's expression plainly showed his mounting perplexity. "You're full on barmy, you know that." Harry said with no jest.

"Coming from a wizard, that means very little."

"Not all wizards are as you describe them," Harry said with reluctance. Considering all he'd been through, Harry wasn't too confident that this man's appraisal was very far from sport on.

"No?" Filmore asked. "It must just be the ones who act on their convictions, then."

Harry couldn't argue that. "When did you start killing wizards?"

Filmore's body language seemed to relax, as if he was settling in for what would be a long conversation. "After the wizard's parents died…no, know them I did not," he said, interrupting Harry before he could get the question out of his mouth. "Did not know they were wizards until after the fact. Even more, I blame them for bringing on the hell that followed their death to this town."

Harry sat on the floor against the wall behind him. He wanted to berate the man for blaming his parents for what Voldemort did; he settled on a sneer as his response. "Tell me about it," he commanded.

Filmore took a long look at Harry before he spoke. "Rising tempers with a strong front of bullshit on the horizon."

"Wha–" Harry started.

"October of '81, returned from her Royal Majesty's latest negotiation efforts and happy for the respite. It's a small town and one that I grew up in, so when I got back and the talk was of the mysterious young couple that appeared here and again in town, I wasn't too surprised for it. Been as long as I can remember, random guests made random appearances in this town, no matter how out of the way she lies. In fact, my Gran told me Godric's Hollow had always been this way." Filmore saw a complete look of confusion staring back at him. "Keeping up are you?" he asked sarcastically.

Harry's mouth was still held open from the question he never got to ask when the man interrupted him. "What … negotiations …"

"Good enough. Well it'd always been second nature, discovering what didn't fit. Drove my mum nuts round Christmas, I'll have you know." He smirked. "Like those that'd come before, I figured this young couple was taking their stay in the old run-down lot at the top of the town. Course at the time it seemed peculiar to me that this lot hadn't always come to recollection as old or run down." Filmore winked at Harry. "One guess why, wizard."

"Is this guy serious?" Harry asked Slytherin.

"Quite so, I'm afraid. His banter may seem erratic, but I assure you he's quite deliberate in his intentions. I could have told you that without the Legilimency"."

"Well, you going to have at a guess?" Filmore commanded.

"Not really," Harry said.

"Fair enough." His expression returned dismissive. "Wasn't the first time experimenting around magic. Town like this, one has all the opportunity needed if he's keen on looking for it. Naturally, after your Dark Lord got confused about the intended … unplottable you call it …yes that was it, unplottable, character of this house, the residents of this small town got more than their fair share of exposure to magic."

"This does become relevant some time soon, I hope," Harry said.

"Relevant?" Filmore mumbled. "Bullshit's arrived then."

"Have you a point?"

"So it was Halloween when this Dark Lord arrived. He and your dad – as it were – started trading a rainbow flavor of exploding light for all to see. Seen more than your average amount of fights in my day, a fair expert in the field you might say. For what it's worth wizard, seemed your dad had the upper hand in that one. Unfortunately for him, this Dark Lord fellow has got a strong case of the can't-be-hurts, much like yourself."

Harry finally closed his mouth and found it to be quite dry. It was only for that reason he managed to keep it shut during the man's pause.

Filmore looked surprised at Harry's silence. "Hmm…perhaps the front has passed then."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but paused when he saw Filmore preparing to cut him off again.

"Some kids had chemistry sets. Found that snooping around magic was much more interesting. Course, to a child everything has to have a reason; that perspective helped. To be honest, it was because of magic that I became such a good negotiator for my great country."

Harry didn't bother interrupting. He knew it would be a lost cause, but he was capable of pulling off the asshole role as much as the next guy. When Filmore looked up at him again, he quite deliberately mouthed, re-le-vant. There was satisfaction in the resulting pause it forced in the man.

"More bullshit then, eh?" Filmore replied. "Very well, so it was as a young lad that magic became familiar. The first was with your misdirection magic; the key was figuring out how to find it. It was a bit of good old science that did the trick. You'd be surprised how a battery-powered radio responds when just a wee bit of the magic is around. It's like finding a whole new frequency of static."

Filmore twitched and looked over his shoulder once again. He looked back to Harry, and a smug expression fell over his face. "This to say, at 10 years old, all it took was some curiosity, a good dose of attention, and a cheap transistor radio to figure out the presence of your like. I'm many years more than that now, and until you took on the bad end of that sword and won, I'd figured to have seen a majority of what you might consider standard magic." Filmore looked sternly at Harry. "More importantly, I've used more than a little of it myself."

"You have **used** magic, for what?"

"The same as any wizard might. Manipulate the elements, use the forces of magic to impose your will on the world around you and those that would attempt to do so on you," Filmore replied. "After your parents death, this town was haunted by your kind. Garbed in black and masked, they tortured for information and killed my friends and family. Knowing what they were, it required an understanding of what they were capable of performing to stop them. I acquired that understanding, and then I stopped them until they stopped coming. Does this surprise you?"

Harry wasn't so much lost at this point as he was unsure as to whether or not he really cared about this man's life story. He'd told him very little that was relevant to his family or Voldemort. Even more, he was still unclear as to whether or not it was his intention to kill the man. The anger had passed by now; without it, the thought of killing someone was a relatively repulsive thought. Until the day prior, murder hadn't been something he'd ever thought himself capable of. Of course, he hadn't lost his soul, his family, and his will to live prior to all this either.

He decided to go with indifference. "Surprise me?" Harry scoffed, "Honestly, I'd put it up there with finding out just what it was that got you accepted into club crazy. Maybe you played with a more magic than a Muggle mind can handle. Or perhaps it was when you stopped combing that ridiculous mat of hair around your head. Who knows? Most importantly, who cares? I guess you could say I'm just not intrigued enough to be surprised."

Filmore's face soured more and more as Harry's speech continued. He glared daggers at Harry. "Maybe that dark wizard had a fitting reason to want to kill your family so many years ago. The way you run your mouth."

It was the wrong thing to say to Harry, and Slytherin was the first to know it.

"Harry, perhaps you'd like to issue an ultimatum before you take your wrath?"

"No, I think I'll just kill him," Harry replied and raised his wand. He was pleased to see that Filmore understood completely what was about to occur.

"He is of use to you".

"Only if I use him as target practice to get over my sudden and quite virulent bad mood," Harry replied.

"Just ask him of what use he is to you".

Harry cringed but accepted. "What use would you be to me?"

"I'd be happy to put you out of your misery," Filmore snapped.

"I'd be happy to go, but neither of us are operating on happy at the moment. Try again."

"Are you asking me to barter for my life?"

"I'm not the one wanting the answer," Harry snipped.

Filmore didn't have to figure what that meant. "So it's Slytherin who's asking then? Interesting. The sword perhaps."

"I can take the sword after I kill you. Not a lot of leverage there."

"But you can't use it — at least not as it's meant to be used." Filmore scoffed. "In fact, you could hardly handle it to carve a roast the way you hold a sword."

"There is his use, Harry," Slytherin said calmly.

Harry paused to think. "You cannot be serious".

"Very much so. He's right; you've no remarkable skills in battle, and my current incorporeal situation doesn't lend to teaching you effectively. You've seen him move; surely you recognize how remarkable he is. But if that's not enough, consider this. Mr. Trynsington here seems to have been fighting wizards for quite some time now. A Muggle fighting and besting wizards. You could learn how to beat a wizard without magic. Think on how much more formidable you would be, and then add to it that you can fight with magic. He is an asset.

"He's an annoying fuck," Harry snapped.

"He is a tool; and in case you haven't been paying attention, he fought the same enemy you now have to face. He wasn't killing Dumbledore's pawns; he was killing Death Eaters. Doesn't that put you on the same side?"

Harry clinched his hands into fists as the thought of learning from this lunatic crawled under his skin. "You're a sodding arse, you know that?" Harry screamed.

"You can hardly imagine," Slytherin said.

"And then some," Filmore quipped.

Harry huffed and held up his hand. The sword pulled free of the ceiling and flew to him.

Filmore watched appraisingly as Harry crossed the room towards him with the blade in hand, but lowered. "Here to finish the deed then?" he asked.

Harry didn't answer; instead he grabbed the sword by the blade and turned the hilt towards Filmore. He saw the confused look on Trynsington's face, but it didn't stop the man from taking the sword as quickly as it had been offered. Harry made a show of turning his back to him before crossing the room and sitting back against the wall.

"The wizards that you fought are called Death Eaters," Harry said. "And the man who leads them is the same one you saw kill my parents in this house."

"Remarkable," Filmore mocked. "This is a sword, I am going bald, and you are incompetent. The common theme … these are all things I know."

"They're the same wizards that I'm going to kill," Harry said, ignoring the remarks. "In a sense, that would make us sort of like allies." There wasn't a great deal of conviction behind the words.

"Allies don't tend to spend in evening together in the basement of a decrepit house trying to kill each other."

"You'd be surprised," Harry said, considering the things that people who called themselves his ally had done in the past.

"That just means you need to find new friends."

"My name is Harry Potter. If you're willing to show me how to use that sword and how you managed to kill wizards without having magic to fight with, I promise you I'll bring every last one of the wizards you fought against to their end."

"You're kidding, right? The wizard wants training from the wizard hunter. There is no limit to the insanity surrounding this moment."

"…seeing as we both believe each other to be so," Harry offered.

Filmore stared at Harry and let the silence build between them. "Why should I train you?"

Harry took his time as he thought about the answer, letting another silent pause settle in. Finally, he replied. "Because you obviously had your reasons for spending this much of your life trying to hunt down Death Eaters. Because they're no longer going to come here and fight you, and that means that you've no longer got a battle to wage. Because you say you've never seen magic like mine, and it's an opportunity for you to learn more about defeating our kind. Because you live in the basement of a burnt down house where no one can see you, and you've nothing else to do. Because with your help I can defeat them."

Harry finished and was fairly confident he'd managed to offer some good reasons. Even if he was loath to admit it to himself, he was quite intrigued by the notion of learning how to fight like this man. He was outright disgusted with the thought that Slytherin undoubtedly was aware of his interest.

Filmore hadn't replied, and Harry was getting the feeling that the man was thinking on what new way he was going to try and use that sword to test the limits of Harry's supposed immortality. Filmore looked intently at him, and it was then Harry found the answer. He smiled at the short man.

"Because it beats driving the trolley," Harry said.

The corners of Filmore's mouth rose slightly; then he turned the point of the sword to the floor and leaned his elbow on the hilt. He smiled. "Too right it is."


	7. Cost Benefit

**Author's Notes:** My thanks go to Lisa725 for betaing yet another chapter. She's my hero… An additional thanks to Von, and Von, yes he gets two. Thank you as well to gallandro83, Rocky235, and Guardian Dimension.

Read, review, enjoy!

**Chapter 7 – Cost Benefit**

"Are you actually trying to dissect me me, or do you have some sort of fixation with blood?" Harry snapped. Filmore had sliced open another deep gash along his stomach — one to join the growing family of cuts and stabs he'd suffered at the end of the Muggle's blade. The wounds healed almost instantly, but that didn't mean they hurt any less.

"Bits and bits," Filmore replied casually, not missing a beat in his fluid sparring motions.

Harry was just barely able to duck beneath the sweeping blade aimed at removing his head.

"Some bigger than others," Filmore added as he watched Harry clumsily roll backwards away from him. Harry was astonishingly quick; Filmore had already acknowledged that, though it only served to emphasize how sloppy he was with his movements. "Not so permanent is the damage to the boy. What then is wrong with carving out an organ or chopping off a limb?"

"I just don't think … my training … should double as therapy for your short man's complex." Harry huffed out as he defended from Filmore's attacks.

Trynsington pushed his assault and watched Harry plant his back foot firmly to hold ground. There was no mobility in the stance, something he'd told Harry over and again. No matter of quickness would spare him from paying the price for his mistake in blood. Swiftly, Filmore launched a sweeping blow to Harry's left, intentionally missing, but further setting the boy into his stance. He used the momentum to carry him full circle and plunged the blade forward. The soft push of flesh signaled pay dirt, though it was well off from the center of Harry's gut where he'd been aiming.

"Moves like a priest through a brothel." Filmore smiled, which was creepy. "He's quick on his feet but not so sure how to escape."

Harry wasn't really sure if he understood what that meant, or if he really even wanted to. The pain of steel extracting from his stomach diverted his attention from the quandary.

Filmore watched another spurt of blood spill to the floor. "The wizard must be a little curious though..." He continued to watch as the wound healed before his eyes. "Cut and heal, cut and heal. We see it again and again. ..."

As soon as Harry was back to his feet, Trynsington was back on the attack.

"Bored with it all already ..." He brought his blade downward at the boy, and their swords connected. Swiftly he redirected the angle of his blow and began to slide his blade down the length Harry's sword, taking aim past the hilt. "Can he re-grow a limb?" Filmore grunted as he went for the chopping blow. Harry pulled away before the sword could cut through his wrist.

"Listen you garden gnome wannabe, quit with that nonsense," Harry growled in frustration at Filmore. For a man of his stature he moved like the wind, and seeing a swift, fat man was a sight to behold. But then add to it that Filmore was far and away stronger, more experienced, and coordinated. It was clear why the floor they stood on was coated in a slippery pool of Harry-blood.

"Really, it's no wonder you've lived in solitude all this years," Harry said, barely avoiding another striking blow. "He's-got-a-right-sick-sense-of-how-to-treat-a-guest," he sang, mimicking Filmore in tone.

"Understand it was you who requested this," Filmore replied curtly.

"I wanted training. This is more like an anatomy lesson."

"Remarkable how quickly you've learned to protect your weak side. A wonder how much of that is owed solely to the fact that it's been opened up repeatedly?" Filmore forced his point by sending a series of slashes and blows to Harry's left side, all of which were blocked.

"Fair enough, but explain one thing to me." Harry smirked and then Apparated behind Filmore where he was presented with a fully exposed opponent. He brought the sword in a swift upward motion that ran firmly across the man's back, but it did no damage at all. "Why is it that I get the sword that can't cut through butter?"

Filmore spun around with a vicious sneer glued to his face and then immediately glanced over his shoulder to confirm there was no injury to his back. Without looking back forward he took off in a rush at Harry. The two went toppling to floor, Filmore driving the fall with his shoulder in Harry's abdomen. Harry grunted as the wind was forced out of him. They stopped with Harry pinned beneath the Muggle. Filmore casually returned to his feet and held his sword at the boy's throat. "Because not so dead proof am I, moron."

Trynsington lifted his sword, turned, and left the room without another word.

"_He's not a very gracious loser,"_ Slytherin remarked.

"He's a worse fucking teacher than Snape," Harry spat as he gathered himself back onto his feet.

"_You learn through practical application. Any teacher worth his weight can see this about you."_

"Please tell me you're not making an excuse for Snape. I was just starting to believe that ridiculous Slytherin House Bias didn't originate with you. That greasy bastard, for all intent and purposes, mind raped me for the better portion of a school year."

_"I make no excuse. Forcing yourself on a child's mind and calling it tuition is an unforgivable trespass, one that we shall requite in due time. However, it seems to me that Mr. Trynsington's approach is both appropriate and effective in the matter of your physical training."_

"You see that lake of Harry Potter on the floor? Ain't exactly what I'd describe as appropriate," Harry replied.

_"Perhaps it is a bit excessive, yes. I have to admit, though, I am more than a little curious to see if you can, in fact, re-grow body parts."_

Slytherin may have been incorporeal, but his words dripped with enough sarcasm for Harry to feel the smirk on Salazar's face; it could piss off the Dali Lama.

"You think that's clever, do you?" Harry said. "Don't forget this is the only body you've got to work with as well." "I thank the powers every day it isn't the only one I've known." "Any time you're ready to trade up for another, you give the word."

_"What, and miss these lovely chats. I'm saddened by the thought, honestly. I simply must make it up to you Harry,"_ Slytherin wooed.

"I'd rather you didn't."

"_Perchance an opportunity for a history lesson and practical application in one. Yes, I absolutely must make recompense young sire."_

"What history lesson?" Harry asked.

"_A seminar on the genesis of the so-called Slytherin House Bias and its purpose exemplified through the practical application of blood magic on an immortal mixed-blood Gryffindor." _

"From training dummy to test bunny, this is my life," Harry said in a dry tone.

"_We've all got to be good at something."_

"So, Filmore got to have fun poking holes in me and spilling my blood. You're feeling a little left out, so you want to start filling me with potions that'll have me spewing that same blood all over the walls." Harry paused and looked from the floor to the walls. "At least the ceiling and floor will have matching décor."

For a brief moment Harry thought he'd be saved from extended torture when heard Slytherin rattled off the laundry list of items needed to start the blood magic potions. As it turned out, his parents kept an extensive stock of ingredients and the related equipment at the house in Godric's Hollow. Quite in line with Harry's luck of late, none of it had suffered for the worse through the house burning nearly to its foundation, nor a decade and a half of aging. Expiration dates, apparently, were not a common theme in the magical world. 

Many painful hours later, Harry stood over a putrid smelling vat of blood potion boiling feverishly in the cauldron beneath him. He was noticeably paler from extensive loss of blood — some given voluntarily to the many iterations of potions that preceded the one currently cooking, most lost sacrificially to whatever god rules over the complete and utter failure to observe good sense.

Slytherin was happy to point out that the upside of Harry's state of semi-permanence was a much shortened learning curve in what worked and didn't for creating a successful blood potion. Harry had hundreds of reasons to argue, each represented by one of the spots currently dancing before his eyes. Still Salazar had made drastic changes from one potion to the next. With each new concoction, he was able to eliminate orders of variables quickly, since there was no fear that Harry wouldn't survive to test the next potion.

A huge bubble developed in the center of the thick boiling liquid, and it seemed to take forever to burst. When it finally did, this incarnation of _eau de rotting flesh_ was released on Harry's sense of smell, and it sent those very spots running from his vision.

"_This will be the last one of the day, Harry." _Slytherin's tone held only concern at this point.

Harry didn't bother to muster a response; his raw throat wasn't up for it anyway. Instead he reached for the wooden goblet on the table next to him; Slytherin had decided some forgotten amount of failed attempts ago that it would be necessary for imbibing the blood potion. Without care for what the boiling liquid would do to his hand, he submerged the cup into the potion and withdrew a goblet-full of the drink. He took it down in one and waited for the anticipated signals that meant the spots would be making their return in a few moments.

"_Harry?"_ Slytherin asked after an extended moment.

"Nothing," Harry rasped, his strained voice illustrating the damage sustained to his throat. Vocalizing a response was an act of spiting himself in order to spite the voice in his head.

Slytherin took the hint and remained silent.

"_I feel light, empty almost. It's like I'm not…grounded to anything_," Harry finally said.

"_Any pain or tingling? Any inclination at all that something is out of sorts," _Slytherin responded quickly.

"_You mean aside from the fact that I feel as empty as Voldemort's heart?" _

"_I mean, anything like what you've experienced with the previous seventeen potions?" _Slytherin responded seriously.

"_Has it been that many?" _Harry said with a start. "_No, nothing like that. That leads me to believe that now would finally be a good time to ask what this potion is supposed to do to me." _

There was no response from Slytherin. After a moment, Harry began considering the possibility that the blood potion had somehow removed the man's presence from his head. "Err, Salazar…" he croaked to be sure.

"_I'm not sure I believe it Harry," _Slytherin said with a creepy calm.

_"Believe what?"_

"_We've done it, boy. Don't you see?" _The ability to restrain the glee from his voice was starting to falter.

"_Yuppie for us," _Harry replied, not wanting to waste a rare opportunity to chastise his tormenter.

_"I've come back from the beyond for this moment, to inhabit an heir of Gryffindor no less, which I'm sure in the cosmic balance of things, is somehow fitting. Nevertheless, don't doubt for a second that your attempt at sarcasm falls on deaf ears young man."_

"_Maybe if you told me what it is we've accomplished I'd be more excited," _Harry said.

_"Another instance, in what is becoming the growing body of work that comprises 'a power he knows not.' You, Harry Potter, are the first wizard since Salazar Slytherin capable of Flash Apparition! Or so it would seem."_

After a moment's pause Harry figured the disembodied voice was waiting for some sort of response. "_Considering you're the only wizard who has ever done this before, I'll go out on a limb here and assume you know I don't know what that means." _

"_You really are a show-me kind of guy, you know that?" _Slytherin said, the excitement still pouring from his voice. "_Too bad. You'll have to do with an explanation for the moment." _

_"Whatever — as long you ease up on the giddy little boy impersonation."_

_"Killjoy,"_ Slytherin quipped.

_"Sadist,"_ Harry responded.

_"If you insist,"_ Slytherin continued, unconcerned with the insults. _"Flash Apparition, most simply put, is the ability to exert your magic against those forces that affect movement through space."_

_"How is that any different from regular apparition?"_

_"Flash Apparition means that your magic can free you from the laws of gravity, from the rules of movement through apparition. When mastered, it's more a form of art than a means of traveling from point A to B. Jump, and you can use your magic to multiply the height you reach. Run, and you can use your magic to reach unimaginable speeds. But most importantly, Apparate, and you are nearly unbounded in your options. When you've mastered this magic, you will be a phantom in battle."_

Harry had a hard time restraining the smile creeping onto his face. Perhaps this was worth the giddy schoolboy act.

Salazar was happy to see it. _"You want to give it a try,"_ he stated rather than asked.

_"It's like you said: I'm a show-me sort of guy,"_ Harry replied.

Slytherin showed him a location outside the house, the same way he'd shown Harry how to get to Godric's Hollow. _"Do you think you can Apparate there?"_

Harry's response was in the doing. He found himself at the bottom of a bowl-shaped canyon; its ground was covered in grass and a canopy of dense, tall trees stood in the middle. The space was as large as a Quiddich pitch, but the trees made it seemed crowded. The canyon wall was edged with uneven rock faces that provided precipices of varying width and depth. Though uneven in height, the canyon walls appeared to reach as high as the tallest tower at Hogwarts.

_"Interesting location,"_ Harry commented.

_"And perfect for what we wish to accomplish," _Slytherin noted. _"So, straight to the crash course?"_

_"If you teach like you cook potions, I'm sure there'll be much crashing."_

_"Technically, you cooked. But, we'll waste our time trading insults later. Are you still experiencing that light, empty feeling?_

_"Even more since I Apparated here,"_ Harry replied.

_"Can I assume you can feel how your magic is reacting to the gravity pulling against your body?"_

_"It feels like it wants to explode against it."_

_"That bit of forest up there — you probably can't tell from this vantage point — but it's shaped like a crescent moon and thusly given the appropriate name, Moon Scrub," _Slytherin said. _"Have you ever heard the old Muggle nursery rhyme 'Hey Diddle Diddle'?"_

_"Err…yeah. 'Hey diddle-diddle the cat and fiddle…" _Harry began to recite the poem.

_"That'll do just fine, thank you,"_ Slytherin interrupted. _"Harry, be the cow."_

_"The cow?" _Harry repeated questioningly.

_"Yes, Harry, the cow."_ Slytherin accommodated the confused boy by providing him the mental image of jumping over the Moon Scrub.

_"You've gone barking,"_ Harry immediately responded. He was met by silence. _"There's no way I can do that,"_ he argued, still getting nothing in return. _"If I wind up planted head deep in a tree trunk, I'll spend my every waking moment figuring out how to evict you from my brain with a spoon."_

When there was still no response, Harry stared down at the trees ahead in the distance.

"Fuck it."

He took off in a sprint and instantly felt the immense speed produced effortlessly by his feet. He was closing the distance between him and his destination faster than he'd ever imagined possible; it seemed to have only been a matter of steps, but already he was upon the trees. Throwing caution to the wind, he planted his forward foot firmly into the ground. The burst of magic that welled up beneath him was so potent he could actually feel it pulse through his feet and legs. The next instant he was catapulting through the air.

As he floated over the small forest, he had just enough time to look down at the trees beneath him and see that they were, in fact, shaped like a crescent moon. He was almost inspired to blurt a celebratory "Moo" to his success.

It wasn't until he felt the pull of gravity returning him back to earth that he started worrying if this was going to be a short-lived experiment — one that resulted in a shorter, more liquefied Harry Potter. But another burst of magic came forth, just as tangible as the last, and landed him nimbly on the canyon floor as if he'd only taken a single step.

"Absolutely. Bloody. Wicked," Harry gasped.

_"Who's your favorite founder?" _Slytherin cooed.

Harry wasn't about to oblige that. "_So what else can I do?" _

"_Well, that was the easy part. The real art of Flash Apparition is through mastering constant motion — Apparating while in motion and carrying the momentum of that motion through your Apparition. _

In Harry's mind, Slytherin showed Harry an image of himself running through the clearing. He could hear the sound of his feet crunching the grass and see the tree line approaching. He Apparated, and suddenly there was a small cloud of black smoke in the space where Harry disappeared from. When he reappeared on the other side of the forest, he did so through another cloud of black smoke, still running as if he never missed a step.

_"Nice,"_ Harry said. _"What's with the smoke?"_

"_That's your cover. Usually that skill doesn't develop until later, but it seems you've got a knack for being hidden. Eventually, you'll control the size and thickness of the smoke, making it so that you can fill a room in black upon your arrival or simply appear without it."_

"_Very nice."_

_"We're only scratching the surface."_

Harry took off running and pictured himself Apparating to the other side of the Moon Scrub. He heard a very subtle _puft_ sound and then appeared still running in full stride on the other side of the trees.

"_Something like that?" _Harry said pleased with himself.

"_I might have suggested not trying it through a scrub full of trees on your first go, but seeing as you're not part arboreal as a result, that will do. Now for the fun stuff." _

Salazar projected another image into Harry's mind. This time he took off running and jumped toward one of the precipices jutting out of the canyon's side. A cloud of black smoke appeared as he disappeared into the sky. He reappeared atop the intended precipice in full stride, carrying his momentum straight to the side of the canyon and running up it.

"_Just before your momentum fades, you have to jump again," _Slytherin said in commentary. "_Carry that jump into your next Apparition and appear here."_

Harry saw himself jumping out horizontally from the wall and towards the center of the canyon. He disappeared and then reappeared on top of another precipice on the complete opposite side of the canyon.

"_You have to memorize your surroundings, Harry. Always know the layout, and be aware of how your opponents are changing position within it. When you can do this, there is little limitation to how you can Flash Apparate. Think you're up to the challenge?" _

Harry took a moment to take in his surroundings. He recognized the two precipices that Slytherin had showed him and imagined in his mind repeating the actions that were put forth to him. He took three quick strides before jumping toward the first precipice. _Puft. _His first Apparition was complete, and he was running atop the first short precipice. He could feel his magic carrying him upwards as he took off up the side of the canyon. He managed to run several yards farther upwards than Slytherin had imagined for him when he took his second powerful jump. He turned himself in mid air so that he was traveling toward the other side of the canyon like a missile. _Puft_. When he reappeared, he was still traveling horizontally through the air and the opposite face of the canyon was only a couple yards away. He flailed wildly to get his feet beneath him in time, but to no avail. He heard the crunch before he felt it, and a blanket of blackness veiled his site.

When his vision returned, the sound of Salazar laughing heartily filled his head, though only a touch louder than the ringing that accompanied it. He knew he hadn't quite passed out, but he was so disoriented from the collision that that knowledge was of little consolation.

"_Fuck. That really hurts," _Harry said.

_"Forgot to put your feet beneath you there, Ace."_

"_Yeah, but I mean that really, really hurts!" _Harry repeated. "_Like, for real hurts,"_Harry added in an attempt to clarify.

"_Well, perhaps you're not as immortal as you'd like to believe, young man," _Slytherin calmly stated. "_It seems you're not immune to self-inflicted harm. I guess that's good to know in case you suddenly decide that you just can't suffer this world anymore._ _I know it'd be hard for me if I were you," _Slytherin teased.

"_You couldn't warn me," _Harry argued.

_"I'm learning just like you are, Harry."_

"_And about the part where I remembered to get my feet beneath me?" _Harry pressed.

_"Yes. Well. Withholding that bit seemed much funnier before we made our little discovery, didn't it?"_

"_I'm laughing on the inside, I promise,"_ Harry said dryly. He picked himself off of the ground and shook the dirt from his clothes and face, but when he pulled his hands from his head he noticed they were covered in blood. "_Hold on a second! How's it that I can split my head open on a big ass rock, but when I choose to drink, what…seventeen was it, different forms of the poison you called potion, I just spit up a couple gallons of blood and get a sore throat? That doesn't seem right? _

"_I don't make the rules here, Harry. Despite my vast wealth of knowledge, unprecedented skill, and charming nature, I'm as clueless about the 'back from the dead' game as you are. Maybe it's the powers that be twisted sense of humor? Maybe they've got something against using poison or magic to end the powers they've given you? Maybe they spend too much time watching cartoons and want to see a suicide that will make the ACME Corporation proud. _

"_I hope you've made room?" _Harry said.

"_Made room?" _

"_In your ass." _

Slytherin paused. "_I don't think they'll like that." _

"_Well then, I hope you've made a lot of room, because you can take the powers that be, their likes and their dislikes, and shove them all up your ass."_

Slytherin sighed. "_We're going to have a hard time with Gryffindor in there as well. He never got on too well with the powers that be." _

"_Not my problem," _Harry replied.

xxx

It was evening when Harry returned to Godric's Hollow. He elected to fly back as a Thestral rather than Apparate. Slytherin told him it would be a good idea to do so. He said it would help Harry find out what affect the blood potion had on his Animagus form. Not knowing exactly how high he could jump, or how fast he could run and fly as a Thestral to begin with, it was hard to say what, if any affects there were. All he knew is that he got home damn fast and that he'd covered significant ground between the canyon and The Hollow.

He reached the head of the road to see the house glowing with what appeared to be a mix of magic spells and small explosions. Despite the house looking like a fireworks show gone wrong, Harry couldn't hear a single sound from the house as he got closer.

Harry walked onto the lot of house. _It's warded; I can feel them. _His mind immediately went back to that night he escaped from Voldemort and his temper flared. "_How did they know I was here?"_

"_Remain calm, Harry," _Slytherin sternly commanded.

"_To hell with that_." Harry took off in a sprint towards the rubble of his parents' home_. "If I've got to come to terms with being immortal, then I'm for damn sure going to enjoy the fringe benefits," _Harry added. The handle to the basement door froze and cracked under his grip as he pulled it open. He sprinted down the stairs, wand drawn, curses prepared, Flash Apparition ready.

"A rat like none other for sure, but not formidable enough; consort with doom, my blade shall play matchmaker!" Trynsington announced upon Harry's arrival. "Come get your cheese, rat!"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. Filmore was hanging from the ceiling. His foot was somehow implanted halfway into the wood. Both of his elbows were bent the wrong way, magically so it seemed, and his normally pale face was almost purple with all the blood that had run to it.

A spell flew at Trynsington from behind; he blocked with his sword in an act of contortion Harry wasn't quite ready to accept from a short, stumpy, elbow reversed man.

"Dobby's not knowing what crazy, bad man is talking about, but Dobby will not let you hurt Harry Potter!" Harry heard the small voice come from the opposite side of the room that the spell just cast at Filmore had been sent from.

"_No greater wrath than a house elf misguided_," Slytherin deadpanned.

"Trynsington!" Harry called out. "What the fuck is going on here?"

Filmore had what looked like a small explosive device in the palm of his hand cocked and ready to throw; at least Harry imagined that was the case. It was hard to tell when the man's bent arm met the back of his shoulder instead of the front.

"Sharp eyes, Harry!" Filmore panted. "Squirrelly little bugger for a rat this is. But it has a tell…listen for it…the snapping - yes snap first, then the magic comes."

Trynsington's eyes never stopped roaming over the room as he spoke to Harry. "Come get your nibbles, _rat_. Show us what you're made of."

There was a snap behind Harry, and Trynsington threw his explosive immediately in reaction. It banged on the floor behind Harry, and he was sent hurdling across the room ripped open and charred from the explosion. He slid to a stop beneath Trynsington. He was bloody, deafened, and near the edge of consciousness, only aware enough to realize that his sadistic Muggle acquaintance was falling, basement roof and all, on top of him.

He woke with the taste of wood and paint dust in his mouth and the smell of body odor in his lungs. He couldn't move, couldn't feel, and absolutely couldn't make sense out of his situation. He was sure his throat was bellowing a scream, but his ears offered no confirmation to that.

"_Calm yourself, Harry." _Slytherin's voice sounded clearly in his head.

Harry complied immediately.

"_Better, close your eyes and wait for your body to catch up with you. It should heal itself shortly." _

Harry closed his eyes and slowly felt his hearing and sense of touch return. He still couldn't move, but that wasn't so alarming since he seemed to be gaining everything else back.

"_Let's test your Apparition skills." _

That opened Harry's eyes. "_A fucking lesson! Now?" _

He looked around at his situation. There was rubble everywhere, and Filmore's battered body was next to him, bleeding. "_Have you completely lost it?"_

Slytherin's tone remained calm. "_Just try to Apparate to the front of the house, preferably to a stand." _

Harry heard a rustling a top the pile and left the questioning for later. He focused on the Apparition and, despite some resistance, was able to do so. He appeared at the front of the house and found that he was able to move.

"_Did I pass, Slytherin?" _Harry asked snidely.

"_A house-elf's magic is not a thing to trifle with. And so when I tell you that casually Apparating through the bonds of such magic is no small matter, you'll understand what it is you just accomplished."_

"_I couldn't move because I was in some sort of full body bind?" _

"_Yes… by a house-elf". _

"_A house-elf?" _

"_The very one behind you, in fact."_

Harry heard a snap behind him and instantly jumped backwards toward the sound while Apparating. He carried his Apparition through the point where he imagined the sound originated, hoping it would leave him facing the back of his attacker. He reappeared staring at a Dobby, who was looking back at him wide-eyed and cowering.

"Dobby is most very, very, sorry that he did not protect Master Harry Potter sir. Dobby will offer his head for this terrible mistake." The house elf brought his fingers to the side of his head and stuck his snap-ready fingers into his ear.

"Dobby?" Harry said unsure, but then quickly realized what the elf meant to do, "DOBBY!" he yelled, which forced the elf to pause.

"Is Master Harry Potter sir thinking on a more suitable and lasting punishments for Dobby?"

"What are you doing here, Dobby," Harry barked.

The house elf cowered farther. It didn't faze Harry.

"Dobby followed Master Harry Potter sir, from Hogwarts. Dobby was in the service of the Hogwarts Headmaster Dumbledore, but since he is dying, Dobby could leave when he saw fit." Dobby's eyes wandered from Harry. "Dobby always could leave when he wanted to. Harry Potter sir made Dobby a free elf." His eyes widened and snapped back to Harry. "But Dobby stayed at Hogwarts because he knew that Harry Potter sir would be coming there," he said excitedly.

He looked to the ground and his ears turned down, "But when Harry Potter returned he was different. Dobby knows how the Dementors look, and he is knowing that Harry Potter was changed by them. But Dobby didn't care! Dobby told Winky and the other elves that he is going to follow the great and powerful Harry Potter no matter what is happened to him. So Dobby came here and found the fat man cutting Harry Potter. Dobby waited till Harry Potter sir was safe and showed the fat man why he should not harm Harry Potter!"

Harry stood silent not sure what to do with that information. He didn't want the elf around. Dobby would only be in the way or end up dead — and neither were options he cared to deal with. The more he thought about it, the more the scowl on his face grew.

Dobby replied by beating his head against the broken doorframe of the house.

Harry set out to stop him, but then he paused. He wasn't going to let this elf be his concern; if it wanted to beat itself straight, that wasn't his problem.

A moment later, Harry nudged the unconscious house elf awake with his foot. "I'd tell you that you're completely nutters, but it occurs to me that any creature who beats its own head to unconsciousness is lost to such criticism."

Dobby stared up at Harry. "Who is it that's living in your head Harry Potter sir?"

The elf asked its question with such calm that Harry had to wonder if Dobby had finally knocked his loose screws back in place. "How did you follow me?" Harry responded in kind.

"Harry Potter is a Thestral, sir," Dobby said with awe. "Dobby followed the Harry Thestral after he's leaving Hogwarts. Thestrals are having lots of magic for Dobby to see after when they fly."

Harry nodded at the quick response. "Salazar Slytherin," he replied.

Dobby looked at Harry for a moment. He then got up, stretching onto his tiptoes and looked even closer. Finally he grabbed Harry by the side of the head and pulled Harry's face near to his own, examining the wizard from ear to ear. "Dobby is curious…how does Salazar Slytherin sir fit inside Harry Potter's head?"

"You still haven't answered my question, Dobby," Harry said stiffly.

Dobby immediately released Harry's head and pulled his arms together in another cower. "Oh-hoo, yes indeed, Harry Potter sir. Dobby is very sorry, sir." The elf cringed and headed back towards the doorframe.

"That house has taken enough of a beating without you cracking your skull against it, I think. What do you say we leave that out for the moment." Dobby still looked hesitantly toward the doorframe. "If you knock yourself unconscious again, I will leave you here," Harry called out. "Just go home, Dobby."

The elf stopped dead, but he didn't turn around as he spoke. "But this is my home," he replied.

"No, it's not your home, Dobby. No one has lived here that could be your master for over a decade, before that you belonged to the Malfoys. Go back to Hogwarts, go wherever you like, but you can't stay here," Harry ordered.

"Dobby is most regretful, but Harry Potter sir is mistaken."

Harry could see the elf fighting his urge to punish himself for contradicting what was said. "How is that Dobby?"

"Dobby is a free elf, sir. He is choosing who he serves and where he lives. Dobby chooses to serve Master Harry Potter sir, so Dobby's home is where his master lives."

Harry pushed his building anger outward at the elf, forcing a wave of cold against it. "Harry Potter is a free human," he spat mockingly. "He is choosing who the fuck he wants and doesn't want to be serving him. I don't want your help, Dobby! Go home!"

Dobby's entire body sulked further with each word of rejection from Harry. It pained Harry to see it, but he chose to deflect that pain to fuel his anger. Yet he couldn't face the elf any longer, not when he was looking at him like that.

Harry turned and Apparated back to the basement of the house. Filmore wasn't going to get any better pinned under that debris. He appeared in the basement, and the enraged Muggle was flailing against the wreckage pinning him down. Not an instant later there was a pop behind him; but when he turned, there was nothing there.

Harry sighed. "Dobby, I know you're here. Go home." Harry began banishing the objects Filmore was buried beneath.

"Naming the rats now are we – how quaint. Once free from this burden, a full clad guarantee that no rodent shall infest this location again!" Filmore screamed through his struggled, short breaths. "Oh yes! A new hobby to be mastered, a niche, corner the market I will. It will be the end of all snapping rats!"

"He talks funny," Dobby announced, suddenly behind Harry.

Harry caught himself before he revealed how startled he was by Dobby's sudden appearance.

"_That's pretty funny,"_ Slytherin said with a chuckle. "_I'd pay a knut to listen to the two of them and Gryffindor share discourse. It would be an all out declaration of war against proper pronoun usage."_

Harry listened to the disembodied voice and then turned to face Dobby. "I told you to go home, Dobby." he said sternly.

"Kill it! Kill! It!" Filmore screamed.

"Dobby wants to stay with Harry Potter sir. Dobby only wishes to help," the elf pleaded.

Harry clenched his fists and looked away from the elf to the ceiling. "You can't help me, Dobby. I'm not the sort who's in need of cleaning after or a glass of pumpkin juice. You've no place in what I tend to do. You'll only be in the way."

"Free me. I'll kill it!" Trynsington screamed again.

"Dobby is not wanting to help Harry Potter with housekeeping, sir. Dobby can protect Harry Potter," the elf looked to the floor. "Dobby can fight with Harry Potter."

"_How very interesting,"_ Slytherin cooed.

"_This is not the time, Slytherin," _Harry warned.

"Murder is hardly a house elf forte, Dobby," Harry said.

"Dobby is not knowing what fortes do, but he is thinking that bad wizards are filthy. Dobby's specialty is cleaning out that which is filthy." Dobby's ears lowered, and he took on a menacing look, "So to say, Harry Potter sir."

"_I believe that house elf just shot you an 'if you know what I mean glare, Harry — interesting and impressive. They certainly didn't grow them like this in my day". _

"It's making faces! A true fool is the one who listens to the persuasive argument of an opposable thumbed rat, Harry. Be there any sense in this world, let me kill…" Filmore suddenly fell silent.

Harry quickly looked at the man and saw him red in the face and trying to scream through a silencing charm. Dobby had a completely new look of satisfaction on his face. "The funny talking man is too noisy," Dobby said. "He is looking filthy, as well. Dobby would be happy to show Harry Potter sir just how good Dobby is at cleaning, if Harry sir will permit."

"Cleaning…what?" Harry stammered, "Dobby enough! I get what you're trying to do here, but I don't need your help."

"_Need is probably the incorrect term."_

"Shut up, Slytherin!" Harry screamed. "Whatever. I don't want your help, Dobby. The things that I plan to do…"

"The cleaning?" Dobby interrupted.

"Yes, that. Well it's likely to be very dangerous and certainly not the type of place for you to be popping around. I've got enough going on that I don't need to be watching out for you in the middle of a wand fight. It's not like I don't have enough on my conscience already — I don't need the death of the only free house elf in the world added to it." Harry let out a scoff, "The fucking premise of me being responsible for such a thing is so freakin' ridiculous that it's just the sort of thing that'd happen."

"Dobby is not intending to be killed though, Harry sir. Dobby is only wanting to help."

"Nobody intends to be killed Dobby."

"_You should take more time to consider this offer, Harry." _

"_Slytherin…"_

"_Yes, yes, shut up and all that. Pay attention as once again I don't listen to you. I'm going to repeat that elf magic is no force to be trifled with. Some creatures use magic, like your average wizard. Some creatures are magic, like our little elf friend here". _

"_Some creatures have a history with the fuckers we're trying to do in, and would be considered premium wall décor," _Harry responded.

"_I'd also like to add that I could count on my incorporeal fingers the amount of elves known to have been killed by a wizard that didn't voluntarily offer their lives." _

Dobby watched in silence as Harry battled over the issue. When the wizard looked down, it was clear a decision had been made. "The answer is no, Dobby. I do not accept your help. I get it, Dumbledore's dead and you're free, and so you think the next logical thing to do is try to help me. But that's not all there is to being free, Dobby. You may be the only one of your kind that has what you have. It would be a waste to sacrifice that gift trying to help me. And that's all that will wind up happening if you stick around."

Dobby ears fell low against his head, and his usually staunch posture deflated. He turned away so that his back was to Harry, but he didn't make any signs of moving from that point. A moment passed before the elf slowly raised his head. "H-harry Potter sir, he is indeed a great and wonderful wizard…and Dobby is not knowing much about being free sir — but Dobby is confused. What is the purpose of being free if you can't choose to fight for that which is important to you…for the people you is loving?"

The elf didn't wait for a response. He just snapped away, freeing Trynsington from the silencing charm.

"…AND EVERY LAST LIVING RAT FACED RELATIVE, TOO!" The man's suddenly heard scream echoed through the otherwise silent room.

_"Potter, when a house elf poses questions about life to which you cannot respond, it's time to seriously reconsider how you spend your spare time."_

"WIZARD!" Trynsington screamed. "This assortment of wood and stone finds itself tainted with the ill-fitting presence of organic tissue. An anomaly perhaps, what say you remove it?"

Harry snapped out of his Dobby-stricken daze and stared over at the enraged Muggle glaring back at him. Harry waved his wand at the rubbish pile and banished it across the room, leaving Filmore free of the burden.

"Scurried off to where?" Filmore said as he rose frantically. "A corner this world does not possess that will remain unearthed in search of the vermin!"

Harry looked offhandedly at the Muggle. "Filmore, this earth has corners you don't even know exist, and I assure you, if Dobby felt the inclination he could _clean _you handedly in any of them."

"That is so?" Filmore asked defiantly.

"Yes, it is," Harry replied with conviction.

"Then why is it the _cleaning _services of said opposable thumbed rat remain unemployed?" he asked and walked away.

_"What we need is a troll,"_ Slytherin stated.

_"Is that so?"_ Harry snarled.

_"Then we could afford you the opportunity to be stumped by successively simpler beings."_

Harry clinched his fists as tightly as he could.

_"I get to visit the inside of so few heads these days, I guess I just needed a point of reference for comparison. Now I know — this is what an empty one looks like."_

"Enough," Harry screamed!

"Stop talking to yourself wizard," Filmore's voice called out from the other side of the basement.

"The whole fucking world's against me," Harry stated to no one.

_"Except for the house elf trying to fight with you, the wizard stuck in your head trying to talk some sense into you, and the deranged Muggle trying to disembowel you — but in that helpful sort of way."_

_"Paint me relieved," _Harry replied.

_"Listen, Harry, I don't have to tell you this as you've been there yourself. But everyone dies, even more so during times such as these. But it's not your place or mine to say when and how that should happen. All we can do is pick a side and offer our lives to the cause"._

_"Kind of like how you and Gryffindor let me choose to stay with my parents after I died?"_

_"I believe you know it wasn't our choice that this happen to you. Magic is a powerful thing, and it's something we must all answer to. Sometimes that means we are put in situations we'd rather not face."_

_"Sometimes it means your entire life is a situation you'd rather not face,"_ Harry added.

_"Give it a bloody rest, Potter! Do you think no one but you gets it? Your situation is abhorrent; everybody sees it, and it's precisely why creatures like Dobby willingly choose to stand at your side. But you don't get it both ways, boy. You don't get to stand there and cry like a miserable child about your lot in life whilst simultaneously bemoaning the burden of seeing those who would choose to help better your situation offer their lives to help your cause." _Slytherin's voice dripped with disgust.

_"That's not fair," _Harry said and felt like a child for the impulsive response.

_"Then that's it child! Accept that you are an insufferable whelp of a boy and be done with it. Seek out Voldemort this instant and let him offer you the release you desperately seek. At least then creatures such as Dobby can go on about their choices without being shackled to the misguided obligations they feel toward you"._

"PISS OFF SLYTHERIN!" Harry screamed.

_"A fitting response, Potter."_

_"I'm a child then?" _Harry snapped.

_"I speak only from observation," _Slytherin said plainly.

_"Yet I suffered through your failed blood potions and through Trynsington's repeated attempts to cut off my limbs. But when I don't want to let another innocent person die trying to help me that makes me a child?"_

_"That you believe Dobby is choosing to die for you makes you a child."_

_"As I've observed, helping me means eventually dying"._

_"And I've told you, boy, everything dies. What's important is that we lived as we choose to with the time we had. You would deny that of Dobby simply because it's within your power to do so."_

_"Everything dies — except for me," _Harry snapped.

_"And thus the child rears its prepubescent face once again."_

_"Where is my choice?"_

_"Lying plainly before you everyday that you live on, but like a child you can't see past the singular obstacle keeping from you the freedom of choice,"_ Slytherin pressed.

_"You act like it's so simple"._

_"The benefit of perspective, one that has seen the course of numerous lifetimes from their varied beginnings to their sordid ends."_

_"Well, unfortunately, I haven't had the pleasure"._

_"Then allow me to pose this question: Would you rather choose to not know your purpose? Would you rather wonder aimlessly through life not knowing what it is you're supposed to do, what you're intended to offer in return for the gift of life? This is an endless battle you will never know, and the price of that is a suffering all onto your own. But trust me when I tell you it is a fair price to pay. For the other option is fruitless, and the reward you may earn never ceases to repay"._

_"And watching those I love die is the price of that reward?"_

_"The death of those you love is the price that they would pay to be a part of that greatness"._

_"But it's still one that I have to suffer after they are gone."_

_"And it's precisely the reason you have been given the knowledge that death is t not the end. Or was visiting with your parents and living with a very dead founder in your head not proof enough for you?_


	8. Sweet Irony

**Author's Notes: **I extend my thanks to Lisa725 for her beta help.

I hope you enjoy the 31 flavors of Harry Potter ass-kickery in this chapter. Let me know what you think.

**Chapter 8 – Sweet Irony**

_So where have we been? From the Dursley's to the afterlife, and back again. And what have we found out along the way? When a Muggle spends too much time alone in a basement, he starts talking funny and develops a fetish for dissecting immortal wizards. Certain Hogwarts founders like to vacation in said immortal wizard's head – without reservations or advance notice. And apparently despite an immortal wizard's want to just do what he has to and be left alone to it, the only proudly free house elf in the world wants nothing more than to play sidekick._

_…and yeah, I've got a fucking temper problem._

_But I'm doing my best to turn a positive light on my outlook. I prefer to think of my kinetic ill temper as Mother Nature's creative solution to global warming._

_Done bitching, though, and no doubt you're exhausted hearing about it. So what say we skip to the **crux** of this narrative 'o mine. See that? I made a little joke – not such an ill-tempered bloke all the time, am I? The crux of my narrative, of course, is where I channel that aforementioned temper into a positive direction. Positive, if you're not a Death Eater or a bit of the Dark Lord's soul. If you are, well, I can say with confidence that this next part of the story is a decidedly negative experience for you. Me, I thought it was a **bloody** gas!_

_…that's two jokes for those of you keeping count._

_So where are we now? From the philosophical diarrhea of Sal Slytherin to sharing with you the first of several times I get to kill me some Voldemort. And what's changed along the way? The funny talking Muggle managed to teach me several fascinating ways to kill a wizard. The cranially vacationing Hogwarts founder has poured a fountain of magical knowledge into my head — more often than not by way of my throat. And the proudly free house elf has with annoying exuberance taken on the position of sidekick._

_…and yeah, I've **still** got a fucking temper problem._

xxx

"A plan you've got then?" Filmore said offhandedly.

"Can't say that's ever been my style, I usually just go with the 'show up and see what happens' tactic," Harry responded.

"Gotten far with that, have you wizard?" The man scoffed.

"You know better than most about my knack for not dying, so I don't see a problem here." Harry fashioned his wand against his wrist and forearm. "I'm just keeping with what works."

"Loosely does the term 'works' apply whenever the wizard is concerned," Filmore said as he vanished into his workshop. Harry followed, mostly because that was where the rest of his armament resided, but it gave him extra opportunity to rub Trynsington the wrong way.

"As far as I can tell it seems to work against you daily. Or have you forgotten that's why I get to use the wooden practice swords now?"

Filmore didn't offer a response since he was busy rummaging through one of the piles pushed off to a dark corner of the room.

Harry pressed on. "You remember, right? All that rot about bruises healing faster than shallow cuts."

There was no response, and Harry lost interest. He had sheathed his sword against his back and put on his gloves. If things went right tonight, he'd have plenty of opportunity to take out his wrath on an incompliant wizard rather than poke fun at a deranged Muggle with a bad haircut.

Harry finished getting ready by throwing on a thick, black leather overcoat to cover the sword and the wand holstered against his forearm. The jacket would soften the impact of a blow, and perhaps even resist a grazing blade, but in the world of magic this sort of protection didn't amount to much. Mostly it just hid his weapons from view and looked particularly menacing, or so he thought.

He patted himself down, a final go over to be sure he had everything he needed for the evening's events. His left arm felt naked compared to the right without the company of a wand against it. Harry decided it was time to take a closer look at the bookcase shelf full of wands across the room. Turns out the wands had been "collected" from the wizards Filmore had killed or captured over the years.

One wand was good, but considering that the "show up and see" plan didn't have a back-up, it would at the very least be prudent that his wand did.

Harry began the process of picking up each wand and measuring the reaction it had with him when he suddenly felt his sword pulled from the sheath on his back and the point of a second blade shoved directly under his chin.

Harry went rigid for a moment, and then he went right on checking the next wand.

"Remember wizard," Filmore said, using his menacing voice, "what works, works only because you use your immortality as a crutch in battle. Without it — pedestrian at best are your skills."

Harry hadn't heard or felt the man sneaking up on him. That Filmore had simultaneously disarmed him and put him at sword point in a single, silent move was all the proof needed to show Harry how lacking his skills were by comparison. But since he wasn't going to let Filmore onto that realization, he'd made the decision to keep on checking wands.

Crutch or no, unless Voldemort was holding the opposite end of that sword, it represented an inconvenience at the most — even if a sword through the head is a pretty fucking big inconvenience.

Filmore finally lowered the sword and released Harry.

Harry turned to look at the weapon that had just threatened him. It was a straight blade, maybe three feet in length, and longer than any he had trained with. Wider at the bottom and top, three inches or so for each, the blade's edges curved inward to narrow at the center and came to a point at the tip. But most prominent was that it was entirely black. And it had not been painted or stained; the medal that constructed the blade was black, as evident by the improbable shine gleaming off of it. The hilt looked like a hard plastic wrapped in a rubber grip. It cheapened the look of the sword, making it appear unfinished.

"What, is that like a prototype or something?" Harry scoffed, nodding towards the hilt of the sword.

Trynsington's face soured from its adoring glare at the weapon, and he turned on Harry. "Incompetent wizard knows nothing of greatness, of that which is a tool superior to his knowledge."

"Don't get testy. It just looks out of sorts with that handle on it." Harry held out his hand for the weapon. "What sort of metal is that anyways? I've never seen anything like it."

Filmore pulled the weapon away from Harry and crossed to the opposite end of the room. "A mixture of alloys and composites beyond the simple technology of wizard kind. The question, however, is what the metal does. Fire your curses at me wizard."

Harry didn't argue. He picked up the wand that had felt best to him and fired a summoning charm directly at the weapon. Nothing happened. Well, something happened, but it wasn't any sort of reaction Harry was expecting. It appeared as if the blade had absorbed the spell. Filmore smiled menacingly and pointed the sword back at Harry. Suddenly, the back-up wand he'd just used was flying out of his hands and towards Filmore.

"_How remarkable,_" Slytherin marveled.

"Holy Shit!" Harry barked.

"Not so infallible are the tenants of magic, eh wizard? Did not I tell you as much during our first encounter?"

"That's terrific; you're a bloody mad genius and all that. Now what the hell was that?" Harry pressed.

"_I believe the Muggle term is, technology._"

"_Really Sal?_" Harry mockingly questioned. "_Shut up._"

"Remarkable I may be, wizard, but surely you do not believe a mere Muggle could best so many wizards with only a dominant intellect as his sole advantage?" He pointed with the sword tip at the numerous wands on the shelf behind Harry. "

"So that sword _catches_ spells? But then, how does it…err, shoot them?"

"A sword is merely the aggregate of it parts. Certain alloys within are remarkable conductors for magic, others completely resistant, but only for me to know how they work in concert." Filmore's eyes twinkled as he spoke, Harry was shocked to notice. It was a more manic, I-think-I-might-kill-someone-with-this twinkle, but a twinkle nonetheless.

"That's a very nice sword Filmore," Harry said in a slow soothing manner.

It wiped the twinkle from the man's eye and earned another sneer. Filmore steered past Harry and retrieved a sheath for the sword from the bookcase behind Harry. As he sheathed the sword Filmore said, "Patronize not wizard. Save your life this sword will." He handed it to Harry. "Note the button beneath the sword's grip. It will release whatever magic has been trapped within. Only one spell at a time, but block as many curses as you are able to get it in the way of it will. Those are the rules. Treat her well."

Harry took the sword and felt the slight raised button in the hilt. He removed his jacket and the empty sheath on his back and replaced it with the new one. "Thank you Filmore."

Filmore went back to his dark corner and began rummaging again. "One last thing." He came back with a vest. "Fit well this may not, but useful it remains. Woven in the vest are the same metals as those in the sword that resist magic. Blocks all but the green death curse, a lesson learned in a most unpleasant manner."

The vest was obviously tailored for the short fat man, making the fit on Harry awkward at best.

"It will have to do until another can be made for you, or until they cut you into smaller pieces on your upcoming mission," Filmore said. He looked at the wand in his hand and scoffed, "Primitive wizards, it is a wonder you've managed through the years with polished tree branches as your best weapons." He looked at Harry curiously. "Promise, Harry, that you'll put an end to your silly antics in our training and engineer for you a set of wands far superior to this."

"And what silly antics would those be?" Harry retorted.

"No more popping behind me when we spar. No more relying on your immortality as a crutch. If cannot you manage to battle honestly, then no interest have I in teaching you properly."

"It's called Apparating. House elves _pop_," Harry admonished flatly.

Filmore fixed him with an unimpressed glare.

"Fine," Harry relented. "No more _popping_. But, does that mean you'll stop trying to dissect me like a frog then?"

"Nope."

"Of course you won't."

"Fresh cores you will have to retrieve if you wish for new wands, Harry," Filmore said as he left the room.

"But these wands have cores. Why can't you use them?"

"Fresh cores, don't question me," he yelled back from the other room.

"Barmy old man," Harry said to himself.

xxx

"The smelly wizard is trying to hide again, Harry sir," Dobby squeaked excitedly. "It is most curious that he is thinking to hide but not thinking to try and smell a little less," he added with a noticeable chuckle in his voice.

Despite Harry's reluctance to accept Dobby's help, he had to admit that the house elf had an impressive level of determination when given a task. Thinking to get the elf out of his hair for a while, Harry had asked Dobby to track down Mundungus Fletcher. Within a day, Dobby had not only located the wizard but somehow also managed to maintain a constant awareness of his whereabouts. They'd been tracking him for more than a week trying to decipher a pattern to his movements. Aside from regular visits to the few bars that would still serve him, there had been none.

"Harry sir is sure that he is wanting to have his meeting with the smelly wizard at the pub? Dobby is thinking it is a difficult place for Harry sir to remove the wizard without the other wizards noticing, sir."

"I'm certain, Dobby. It's the only place we know for sure he'll be at for any length of time."

"But…if Harry sir is just allowing Dobby, Dobby could pop the smelly wizard here at a time when he is being alone." Dobby's voice faltered as he tried again to make his argument.

"I told you no, Dobby, shortly before I mentioned that my decision was final. And I swear if you beat yourself with that candlestick, I'll send you back to Hogwarts."

Dobby dropped the candlestick in mid stroke to his forehead; it landed squarely on his foot. He had to bite back a show of satisfaction with the accidental self-punishment. "Very well, Harry Potter sir," he gritted out.

xxx

The bar where Mundungus Fletcher was next expected was on the outskirts of Hogsmeade Village. Of course, it would be a day when the village was overrun with summer visitors, making it all the more difficult to go undetected.

Harry Apparated to a spot behind the Shrieking Shack where nobody would notice him. From there, he kept to the shadows and out-of-the-way places, unhappily noting just how many of his schoolmates were visiting the shops.

The closer he got to the pub, the shadier Hogsmeade Village looked. This worked to his advantage as it only took the gesture of pulling up the collar on his jacket and a determinately fixed gaze to avoid detection.

People in and around this sort of establishment stayed alive by keeping to themselves. Harry was happy to exploit that tendency and even more willing to help encourage it should someone force the issue. He wanted to get the job done, but more than a little piece of him was hoping a Death Eater, or someone who might be a Death Eater, or even someone who might be thinking about doing something a Death Eater-ish, would cause a stir.

He entered the pub, and the door shut behind him quietly. For such a sunny day outside, the pub had the sort of dim lighting and hazy air that gave the impression it could be the middle of the night. It smelled like a mixture of tobacco and liquor, and the occupants were so subdued he felt like he was walking into the library.

The only person who actively noticed his entrance was the bartender who looked up at him standing in the doorway, and even his glance was cursory at best. Harry scanned the room as he made his way to a booth in the corner of the establishment. He didn't see Dung, and he didn't want to make it obvious he was looking.

"_What do you think Slytherin?_" Harry asked in a tone that was all business.

Slytherin expected as much and replied in kind. "_Everything seems quite ordinary, considering the location._"

"_Yeah, too ordinary maybe? Is it me, or does it seem like everyone's doing a little too much of nothing? No seedy conversations, no business transactions, even the standard slobbering drunk is sitting quietly at the bar. Feels off._"

There was a long silence, something that Harry was growing unaccustomed to in his own head. "_Possibly you're right. It does seem a bit forced. Still, that doesn't change the plan; if anything, it should encourage you to get a move on with it. Either you get your man, or you find out if something truly is awry…and in that case you get that fight you're so craving._"

The bartender interrupted the intracranial conversation. "What'll it be?"

Harry turned only his gaze up to the bartender and made solid eye contact with the gruff man. He needed to make eye contact so that Slytherin could use his magic for Legilimency, but he wanted to make sure not to reveal his face or scar. Slytherin told Harry what to order, what to pay, and that the bartender knew nothing useful to them.

"Whiskey. Single malt. No ice. Cragammore if you've got it," Harry said and discretely placed a neat stack of gold galleons on the table next to the barkeep's hand. "Leave the bottle."

The man noticeably twitched at the request and amount of gold proffered, although he tried to hide it. Still he took the money from the table as discretely as it had been placed there and made his way back to the bar with more expediency than he'd left it.

"_That should keep the help out of the equation for as long as we want, and anyone who frequents a location such as this will know better than to bother a man with a single glass and a fine aged whiskey._"

Harry took him for his word. "_I don't see Dung._"

The barkeep returned with the requested bottle and a single glass, "There'll be anything else, sir?" The formality sounded grossly out of place from the man's lips. Harry didn't look up and waved him away. "Very good, sir."

"_And what do you feel with your magic?_" Slytherin asked.

"_The force!_" Harry mocked even though the reference would be lost on Slytherin. His head went silent again, and Harry was beginning to worry that he could actually feel when Slytherin was making a point of giving him the disapproving silent treatment. "_Nothing out of order._" His tone was back to business. "_There's tension and an obvious sense of distrust. But like I said, nothing out of order._"

Slytherin had been pressing Harry to better understand his magic. Part of that was realizing that certain magic, such as Legilimency and Occlumency were no more than extensions of his will. When he paid close enough attention, that will could be strengthened and used like an appendage — manifested and manipulated as simply as one controls a muscle.

"_I agree. There's nothing else to it then. Enjoy your whiskey, and wait for your man._"

A painful first shot and two glasses sipped properly later, Harry finally started to understand the appeal of the spirit. Mundungus Fletcher banged through the door just as he finished pouring a third. The jolt of excitement he felt was tempered by the disappointment of having to waste the glass of liquor. Either way he outwardly maintained his calm.

Dung looked ragged as hell, and his smell announced his presence to anyone within ten feet. The alcoholic wizard surveyed the bar, taking an extra long stare at the unfamiliar figure seated in the corner, before his dedication to inebriation beckoned him to the bar.

"Dung you smell," The barkeep barked.

He nearly missed the barstool as he made to sit on it and tried to play it off by settling only one ass cheek on the seat. "Firewhiskey," Dung replied and scattered a handful of change on top of the bar.

"And what is that Dung? Ya' know I don't take Muggle money. It's not Gringotts you ruddy sod," the barkeep yelled, but left the glass of firewhiskey.

Dung tried to shift his hanging ass cheek onto the barstool; instead the whole seat swung off kilter. Just as the stool was about to completely fall sideways a gloved hand firmly landed on Dung's shoulder, righting him and the stool before they crashed to the floor.

Whether out of embarrassment or learned behavior Dung didn't look beyond the hand on his shoulder and to the face of the person who helped him. This worked to Harry's advantage as he left his hand firmly on Dung's shoulder and seated himself in the stool next to the man. Dung opened his mouth to say something but was silenced at the sight of the whiskey bottle set before him. Harry held two fingers up on his free hand, and the barkeep obliged by bringing two glasses, one filled with ice.

"This one likes ice," the man said condescendingly. "Bloody animal."

Harry nodded, dropped another couple galleons on the table, and waved the barkeep away. "So Mundungus Fletcher, sold any fancy lockets lately?"

Dung's body language made it plain that he was nervous, but that wasn't going to stop a drinking man from getting a free shot out of whatever trouble he was facing. He drank down the first glass greedily and refilled it before saying a word. "Dat's a fine year, dat is."

Harry turned his head in repulsion. Dung's breath was potent enough to add another 10 proof and two years to the age of the whiskey. "It's yours if you've got what I'm looking for," Harry responded.

"Wha' sort o' locket ya lookin far? Mustn't be too valuable, if yer only lookin to offer a bottle o whiskey in her place," Dung replied, still staring fixedly at the glass in front of him.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll remember this one," Harry said.

"Lot o jewelry been fenced over da years. I can't be certain I'll have what yer lookin' for, sir."

"You got it a year ago."

"A year? Hah, it'll be long gone by now then."

"Then you'll have to tell me where it's gone to," Harry sneered.

Dung whipped his head towards Harry, and his eyes shot wide as recognition set in. "Are you taking a piss!" he said in an excited whisper. "What d'ya think yer doin' in a place of this sort?"

"Where's the locket you stole from Grimmauld Place, Fletcher," Harry said, ignoring the man's reaction.

"I'm telling ya, I don't know what you're talking about." Dung made to get up, but Harry tightened his grip on the man's shoulder and forced him back into his seat.

"Think on it, Dung. It's very important to me. And I know that us not making a scene in here is important to you. I don't think you can afford to be banished from yet another bar."

"Why ya little shite! Who d'ya think ya are, threat'ning me?" Dung's hand slid off of the bar and down to his pocket. His wand was snapped in half before he even had a chance to take aim with it.

Harry snatched the broken piece of wood out of the wizard's hand and showed it to him. "You're not thinking, Dung. I strongly suggest you try." He shoved the wand into the glass of whiskey so that it looked like a bent straw sticking out of it.

"What've ya done to me wand? Damnit boy, that's not somethin' easily replaced for a man like me."

Harry's temper flared when he realized the man was still treating his circumstance without any sense of urgency. The cold wave of his anger pushed forward, and he focused it through the hand firmly gripping Dung's shoulder. The response was immediate, and there was no longer any doubt that Mundungus Fletcher clearly understood the severity of his situation.

"Think hard – like your life depends on it," Harry said. Dung's body trembled beneath the stress of pain and cold. Harry could feel it as much as he could see it in the erratic jiggle of the drunkard's neck fat. "You understand that I won't ask you again."

"What sort o locket, 'arry?"

"A gold one, on a gold chain. Wouldn't open. You would have stolen it from Grimmauld Place."

Realization flashed across the man's features. He tried to conceal the tell, but Harry saw through it. "It was worthless. I got rid of it," Dung lied.

"Apparently the value of your life is even less if you're willing to lie to me over such an invaluable trinket," Harry replied. "This is not a game, Dung. You can be paid for this item, or you can be punished for not relinquishing it. Those are your choices."

"I don't have it!" Dung nearly sobbed. "I sold it…to…"

"Spit it out, Dung!"

"…to…one of them." He did sob this time. "Don't kill me?" At least he truly did understand the severity of his situation.

A chill shot down Harry's spine, and it wasn't a side effect from his temper. "One of them?" he questioned in a manner that dared Fletcher to confirm the obvious answer to his question. Dung couldn't voice a response; he just nodded his head.

Harry wanted to kill the man on the spot, but not as much as he wanted to kill a piece of Voldemort. It was the only thing that afforded him the restraint not to act. "When?"

"J-just now. Here! In Hogsmeade," The man said hopefully.

"To who?" Harry barked between them.

"To…Malfoy."

"Lucius?" Harry scoffed.

"No, his son, Draco."

Another chill shot down Harry's spine, and this time it was due to the affect of his temper. "Where?" Harry snarled.

"O-outside, in the alleyway. Not long before I came here. There were many o them though, ya certainly don't want to be goin' after them now."

The shaken wizard was obviously trying to seem helpful, though it didn't strike a cheery chord in Harry. The opposite in fact, as Harry grabbed him with his other hand and forcefully Apparated them both out of the bar and into the alleyway outside. When they reappeared, Harry let all of the momentum he learned to carry through his Apparitions pass onto Fletcher. It sent the man sliding violently across the ground and into the piled trash at the end of the alley.

The resulting ruckus it caused in no way contributed to further gaining the attention of every Death Eater currently located there, of which there were more than a few.

Harry's mouth hung open dumbly as he took in the scene. "So…is this like an invitation only type thing?" he deadpanned. A wave of alarming comprehension rolled over the group, and they snapped their wands into place.

"_Looks like._" Slytherin responded just before a hail of curses flew in Harry's direction.

Harry's mind filled instantly with reactions; the problem was, he couldn't decide which one to take first. In the instant it took him to settle on drawing his sword, he only had enough time to block the first curse sent his way.

"_That probably isn't the direction I would have gone,_" Slytherin remarked.

There was no time for a witty comeback. The deluge of spells lit him up like a Christmas tree and sent his body spinning through the air. Pieces of his jacket went flying in every different direction, showering the alleyway in burnt leather and cloth. It all culminated with an unceremonious thud that left Harry flat on his back.

Like every previous mangled moment in his life, he waited for his body to start filling him in on the damage. And like the many times before — nothing. Dumb, deaf, and blind. He'd certainly been here before. Eventually his senses came back to him, as they always did. And what they had to report wasn't pleasant, as it never was.

The group of Death Eaters all gathered over Harry's body with their wands trained on him. "I think we killed him!" said the Death Eater stupid enough to bend over and take a closer look.

Harry's eyes flashed open at the dumb Death Eater's declaration. "Ouch," he replied.

It wasn't possible to say for sure that a look of shock fell over their faces – the masks made it difficult to be certain. But the gargling sound that came out of the Death Eater's mouth as Harry stuck his sword through him was a dead giveaway that his face was contorted into an expression of pain.

Pushing himself off the ground, Harry kept the sword planted firmly in the Death Eater. The rest of the group quickly backed away, and Harry used the opportunity to place the shish-kabobbed Death Eater between him and them.

Nobody moved.

There were six left, and Harry knew they easily had the advantage on him in this narrow alleyway — well, as much of an advantage as they could have on someone they couldn't kill. He had been fortunate it wasn't in a Death Eater's nature to think of incapacitating an enemy as their primary choice of attack. But they weren't overly stupid, and after what they'd just witnessed they'd have to figure that physical attack spells wouldn't get it done.

"_Spread them out. Use your apparition to your advantage. And for magic's sake, stop standing there like an idiot,_" Slytherin told him.

A sinister smile grew over Harry's face. "I was hoping to kill some Death Eaters today, wasn't I?" he responded.

"_Yes, cake and ice cream for everyone I guess._"

Harry sized up the Death Eater directly in front of him, by far the largest of the group, and felt for the button on the hilt of the sword. He had no way of knowing what spell the sword had captured. All he could do was press the button and hope for the best. It turned out the spell was some sort of reductor curse, and it certainly didn't disappoint. What had once been a very large and whole man was instantly reduced to many large chunks of flesh and bone.

"Ouch," Harry repeated.

A mix of confusion and fear spread through the Death Eaters. It didn't slow them from firing off spells, but it did eliminate any chance they had at coordinating their attack. As a result, most of the spells missed Harry and hit the man he had hanging off the end of his sword. It saved him from having to suffer another acrobatic jaunt through the air and had the added upside of putting an end to the very unpleasant gurgling sound his skewered victim had persisted on making.

The dead wizard fell limply off of Harry's sword and left him exposed to an unrelenting barrage of curses. He was barely able to block a curse aimed at his head with the blade while stumbling out of the way of several others. It was plain that the spell fire would overwhelm him if he didn't react. This fact was confirmed by the growing confidence the Death Eaters started to show in their spell casting.

But he did react, and in a manner that wouldn't disappoint those who'd come to expect the highest form of recklessness from Harry Potter.

He ran straight at the group of wizards until he was in the very middle of their ranks. Just before the spells shot at him were about to hit, he jumped up and over the group. This left the five remaining Death Eaters dodging spells they had unintentionally shot at each other. Further, it gave Harry the distraction he needed to begin working toward spreading them out.

His momentum carried him over the group and against the back of building at the end of the alleyway. He planted firmly against the brick wall, spun, and fired the newly captured spell in his sword at the nearest Death Eater. The purple curse struck the man soundly in the back and sent him flying into the middle of the street at the head of the alley.

Harry fell nimbly to the ground just past the trash pile where Dung currently resided. Without pause he Flash Apparated past the Death Eaters and onto the main street next to the wizard he'd just sent flying out there. It took a second, but spells began pouring out of the alley and at him once again. Harry looked down at the struggling Death Eater with a sneer. "They're making this too easy."

The Death Eater choked out a laugh. "You're going to die, Potter." He shoved his wand upward and yelled, "Morsemordre!" The Dark Mark shot past Harry's head and filled the sky above Hogsmeade.

Harry looked at the glyph unimpressed. "So I keep hearing," he said back to the man. "You'll have to let them know I'm on my way then." He shoved his sword through the man's head.

Spells continued to fly out of the alleyway as the Death Eaters charged toward Harry. Shooting on the run never was an exact science, and judging by their aim, these guys were in desperate need of some practice.

"_Time to play to your advantages,_" Slytherin said.

Harry was thinking that exact thing. "It's a pretty wide open street. Gonna be difficult to work the angles with so much space in between."

"_As long as the streets remain clear, the distance between your targets should not be a concern._"

Suddenly a scream pierced the air, snapping Harry's attention away from the oncoming Death Eaters. A witch came storming out of the building across the street panic stricken and fleeing for her life. She looked directly at Harry and then was struck dead by a killing curse.

Then like an orchestrated symphony, one scream after the next rang out through Hogsmeade. Doors flew open, and people ran senselessly into the streets. Behind them Death Eaters gave chase, firing killing curses and other sinister spells. Harry watched in shock as it all seemed to happen instantaneously like someone had kicked an anthill.

"_Well, I guess that changes things a bit,_" Slytherin remarked.

Harry snapped out his gaze in time to be struck soundly by a curse sent at him from the original group of Death Eaters he'd faced. It tossed him into the air and blew another hole in his clothes. He recovered to a kneel quickly, but the streets had grown so chaotic Harry couldn't discern the Death Eaters that were after him from those that were busy attacking the villagers.

Panic struck for the first time since he'd had his soul removed. Unarmed witches, wizards, and children were being attacked mercilessly by the hording Death Eaters. He felt helpless to put a stop to it.

Then everything seemed to slow.

"_What should I do, Slytherin?_" Harry begged.

"_Gryffindor would say at times like this all you can do is fight. I'm inclined to agree; kill every one of the bastards you can, Harry._" Slytherin growled the last, for the first time letting Harry hear him genuinely enraged.

Harry didn't wait a moment longer. Several of his attackers were within a few steps, and his own temper was in full effect. He fFlash apparated Apparated straight at the group, through the crowd of people running between them, and appeared a step in front of the nearest Death Eater. His sword was through the man's guts before he had time to recognize Harry in front of his face.

The others stopped dead, and Harry made sure that they would fall just as dead in the place they stood. . He pulled his sword free and removed the head from the Death Eater standing next to him in a single movement. Using the momentum from the decapitating blow, he swung full circle, drawing his wand and firing a cutting curse for the neck of the Death Eater standing on the opposite side. Three dead, but the other two were threatening to move, and that just wouldn't be acceptable.

They fired simultaneously from each side of Harry, but he used his sword to block one and conjured a Protego spell to stop the other. Before they could fire again, Harry threw his sword through the chest of the Death Eater on the left and Apparated behind the Death Eater on the right. He focused all of his rage as he wrapped his hands around the throat of the final Death Eater. The man's skin froze instantly beneath his fingers, becoming so brittle that it crumbled like ash. From afar, it looked like the Death Eater's neck crushed explosively between Harry's hands. Both Death Eaters did, in fact, fall dead in the spots where they stood.

Harry looked back to the chaos around him. It felt like he wasn't a part of what was going but rather witnessing it like a show on the telly. His emotions were a maelstrom of chaos, an unmanageable mixture of pain, confusion, hate, and sorrow. Ultimately it focused, and all he felt was pure sense of retribution. He watched this theater of terror, and it drove home a clear sense of purpose. This wasn't a show. His purpose was before him.

"_Harry,_" Slytherin said in a cautious tone. "_Harry, I know what you're thinking. I don't think that is the way to go about this._"

It wasn't a time for discussion. Voldemort wanted them to know terror, wanted innocent people to be consumed with a fear of him. Yet he was too much of a coward to invoke those emotions himself. There would be a price paid now and every other time that bastard lacked the conviction to see to his own dirty work. A price Harry would make him pay until all that was left of him was a soulless husk of a destroyed man.

"_Just remember, Harry. In the end, only you have to live with your atrocities,_" Slytherin said.

"_I don't think that'll be a very long time,_" Harry replied.

He extended his empty hand and summoned the sword from the fallen Death Eater's body. Red blood looked less gory falling from the tip of a black blade. Behind him another women fell dead, her eyes were wide with the shock and horror a killing curse sent you off with. Harry found the Death Eater standing ten feet behind the women still admiring his work. He Apparated. When he reappeared, his momentum and the swing of the sword carried a ferocity that left the Death Eater neatly sliced in bi-lateral segments. The mask, split down the middle, fell off each half of his face. One eye was closed, the other wide with shock – the sort of look being cut in half sent you off with.

There's a certain level of chaos where cutting a man in equal right and left halves goes unnoticed. Usually it's when there's a singular distracting event drawing the undivided attention of the crowd — a Quiddich match or cricket maybe. This was not such an event.

Everyone didn't stop what he or she was doing, but most at least paused, and the rest caught on soon enough. Knowing the attention of both villain and victim was on him, Harry looked to the sky and pointed his wand at the Dark Mark. "Finite Incantatum!" he yelled. The mark disappeared in a green and black mist.

"_You know it doesn't really work like that,_" Slytherin said. His calm tone clashed with the rage flowing through Harry's head.

"_I give a fuck,_" Harry growled in return.

The reduced commotion on the street gave Harry a brief opportunity to make what little sense of the situation he could. Death Eater masks were the average wizard's greatest nightmare; to Harry, they were just an easy way to distinguish the targets. Hordes of curses were cast in his general direction. The gift of Flash Apparition made it so that he was long gone before they arrived.

He was a blur, a raven-haired, black sword wielding, phantom of death. Just as quickly as he appeared would another white masked villain fall, and no longer than the time it took a dead body to hit the ground was he gone again. Five Death Eaters fell before they had the good sense to start Apparating out of the village.

That was until they couldn't any longer. Harry felt it, too — a force pressing down on him as he tried to Apparate. It wasn't a certainty he couldn't push through it, but since the blood potion, Apparating had become as simple an exercise as breathing. Now something was restricting his Apparating lungs, and he wasn't sure it was best to test that.

Harry heard shouts from every direction. Not screams, these voices had purpose, a cadence of sense to them. He looked in every direction until he found the source. Aurors.

"_Aww, the authorities have come to rain on his parade?_" Slytherin mocked, sensing Harry's apprehension.

Harry sheathed his sword as he watched one Death Eater after another portkey from the Village. It struck him at that moment the benefit of wearing a mask when you went out with the intent of mischief on your mind. But that was a coward's thought, and he dismissed it just as quickly.

He found that his last bit of carnage had left him only a few steps outside the alley where the fighting began. He ducked quickly into it and cast a repairing charm on the destroyed jacket and clothing that laid in pieces on the ground. The final result wasn't the look of a tailored ensemble, but it was enough that he didn't look as if he'd just run through the fourth circle of hell.

He concentrated on how he was going to get out of Hogsmeade without ending up in Azkaban when a commotion from the pile of trash at the end of the alley distracted him. Harry snorted. Mundungus Fletcher was probably only now mustering the courage to come out from his camouflage of refuse.

"_If only everything else in life acted so plainly according to form,_" Harry said noting the irony.

When Harry saw the platinum blond individual who actually appeared from the trash, he had to wonder if the powers that be were listening. He watched Malfoy kick the unconscious Dung, retrieve something from the man's pocket, and then glamour his Death Eater garb into common black wizarding robes.

"_Looks like fate's thrown you a bone, Harry,_" Slytherin remarked.

"_Doesn't make her any less of a bitch in my book,_" Harry returned sharply.

Malfoy scurried through the back door of the bar Harry and Dung had been in earlier. Harry didn't waste another moment. Following through the same door, Harry slid a wand down the sleeve of his repaired jacket.

Inside, the behavior of everyone in the bar offered no indication that there'd just been a massacre right outside the premises. The same patrons held the same positions they had prior to the Death Eater attack.

"_At least you know where everyone stands here,_" Slytherin said. "_Still, I'd wager you haven't much time. The Aurors will undoubtedly know just as much, and they'll be on this place as soon as they get control outside._"

Harry took a deep breath realizing the calamity of his situation, told you she was a bitch.

Harry caught Malfoy hurriedly walking toward a hallway past the bar. "Going somewhere Malfoy!" he yelled out.

The young wizard stopped but didn't turn. "You just don't know when to quit do you, Potter?"

"You've got something that I want. Give it to me."

"Potter, if we were to cover everything I have that you want, our children would have to finish the conversation. So you'll have to be more specific I'm afraid."

"The locket," Harry answered. "Give it to me now."

"Or what, you'll kill me?" Malfoy snapped. Not getting a rise out of Potter irritated him, but seeing the stone cold manner he was being regarded with shook him more than he wanted to admit.

"No. I'm going to kill you regardless of what you do. But at least if you give it to me now I won't have to go through the trouble of cleaning what's left of you off of it when I'm done."

Malfoy spun around so he could show Harry a disinterested glare. "Take a look around Potter, this isn't exactly a friendly place for you. The Auror's anti-apparition wards mean you can't show off your house elf impersonation. All you've got is a wand and an annoying case of overconfidence." Malfoy pulled the locket from his pocket and dangled it in front of Harry. "Have a last look."

Harry flicked the wand in his sleeve forward and took aim at Malfoy. Sectumsempra seemed a fitting curse to throw, and he shot it directly at the arm holding out the locket. It missed, but the unseen spell that struck Harry from behind didn't. For a change he found himself face first on the ground.

"That's a right shame too. Good taste in spirits, even better tipper," the bar tender behind the wand that cursed Harry said.

The rest of the bar's patrons began to stir, but Malfoy ordered them back. "He's mine!"

"Take the help, Malfoy. You're fucking dead without it."

"You're unbelievable, Potter! Are you so used to not losing that you can't tell when you're beat? Let me help. _Crucio_!"

The spell struck and sent Harry into convulsions. Still he didn't make a sound. Malfoy released the spell, "You getting a better grasp on things yet?" Harry didn't answer, and Malfoy struck him with another dose of the torture curse for it. Harry still didn't scream. Malfoy stormed toward Harry driving his wand down at him as if he were trying to force the hatred of the spell deeper.

As Harry lay writhing on the floor, the bar's front doors suddenly slammed open. A bright stream of sunlight blazed through the room and in it stood the silhouette of a short, round man and an even shorter, big eared, skinny house elf. The snap of a finger rang out over the sudden silence, and every person not Harry Potter was sent hurtling backwards and into the nearest wall.

"All Steven King outside it is," Filmore remarked. "The work of Harry, I'd say."

"Harry Potter sir is making quite a mess when he is cleaning bad wizards," Dobby added.

Several of the bar's patrons tried to stand and attack the newcomers, but Dobby snapped his fingers once more, and they stopped moving entirely. The doors shut slowly behind them, allowing the low lit, smoke-filled room to return to its former gloomy state.

Filmore walked casually into the bar with his hands held casually behind his back. Dobby followed, just after giving the frozen wizards his best evil eye glare. Only one of the bar's patrons had made as far as the aisle way between Filmore and Harry. Filmore didn't even look down at the frozen man as he brought forward a silenced pistol he held behind his back and shot him in the head.

Both Malfoy and Harry's eyes stared wide with shock.

"Helps clear up the situation for anybody with untoward thoughts," Filmore's threatening voice was back in effect.

Dobby quickly went to Harry's side. "Is Harry Potter sir well?"

The effects of the curse were short lived. "I'm fine Dobby."

"Dobby?" Malfoy said with a tone of disbelief. "A bloody house elf, Potter? Even Weasley is above relying on a house elf to save his ass. You truly are path…"

The clicking sound of the pistol hammer in Trynsington's hand cut Malfoy's rant short.

"No!" Harry said. Filmore lowered his gun.

"…and a Muggle too no less." Malfoy added with a tisk. "You really are an embarrassment."

Harry was done with pleasantries. Voldemort's horcrux was only a few steps away, and there was no use in acknowledging insults from a corpse. But no sooner did he take a step towards Malfoy than did another beam of light fill the room through the opened front doors. All eyes again turned to the entrance.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice called out. "I told you I saw Dobby, Ron."

The door shut behind the Gryffindor duo bringing them clearly into view. "Harry, what have you done?" Ron asked an accusing tone in his voice. "And who the hell is this bloke?"

Harry clinched his fists and cursed fate once more under his breath. He didn't bother responding and instead turned back toward Malfoy only to see a wand pointed between his eyes. A look of pure hate and intent flashed through Draco's eyes, and Harry knew what was coming next.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Malfoy's words filled the silent air in the bar. But Harry was ready for it. He ducked his head and body to the left at the same time he swept his hand across Draco's wand arm. The resulting spell missed Harry considerably but did manage to bulls eye the bartender, which saved Harry the time of having to kill the man later for cursing him in the back.

Harry flicked his phoenix wand into his hand and thrust it as hard as he could toward Malfoy. The wand pierced the wizard at the throat with such force that it drove through the front of his throat, out the back of his neck, and lodged into the wall behind Malfoy. Draco's body gave only a single violent lurch in response, before the paralysis set it. After that, he simply hung limp and pinned to the wall, choking for air that wouldn't reach his lungs and gagging on the blood that did.

Harry let go of the base of the wand that still stuck out of Draco's neck. Slowly he leaned in close to the wizard, so that his lips were next to Malfoy's ear.

"Scream for me, Draco."

The gagging and choking sounds continued. Harry leaned back again and fished Slytherin's locket out of the dying wizard's robes.

"Guess I won't have to clean what's left of you off of this after all," Harry added.

Dobby looked on his former master with wide eyes that described the lingering conflict his many years of servitude engrained in him. Filmore looked as if he'd just gained another level of respect for Harry – for the record, the proud, glint in the eye look of a crazy, bald, Muggle, wielding a silenced pistol isn't one soon forgotten or mistaken. The only remaining red color on Ron Weasley sat atop his head, and even that looked paler due to the ghost face he stared dumbly at Harry with. Hermione simply stood rigid; her mouth was open and covered by both of her hands. Aside from the ever-lessening sounds of Malfoy dying, the room was completely silent.

Then something cracked. It came from Malfoy's direction, but it definitely wasn't a sound made by him. Everybody looked on with uncertainty, and the sound happened again. Like the sound of wood splitting. It was the wand, and Harry watched as the holly wood split in several places outward from Malfoy's neck.

Ollivander's words ran through Harry's head, "_Eleven inches, holly wood, supple, with a single phoenix tail feather core_."

For a brief moment Harry saw the stem of the feather, and then it burst into flames. The blaze was intense as it completely covered Malfoy's head and neck. At first it was the common orange and red color of any flame, but as it continued to burn the fire turned blue, and then white.

It extinguished just as suddenly and left nothing behind of Draco Malfoy's head or neck but ash. His body slid limply down the wall.

"Master Malfoy always was looking in the mirrors at himself," Dobby said.

_The fucking irony today is just too much!_ Harry thought.

**Author's post note: **Additionally, I again thank Von for **her** feedback on the story. **She's **kindly offered lots of appreciated review goodiness for each chapter. I made the mistake last week of assigning the incorrect gender to her, and can only offer my apologies for that. However, in my defense it's hard to tell the guy reviewers from the girl reviewers when they have their clothes on…

Thanks also (and equally) to Rocky235. As well as to hemotem and sangmtr.

Look, there to the lower left of the screen. There it is. The review button! I know you've been dying to leave a review but have been too shy to before. Well, lucky for you I'm here with welcome arms offering the chance for you to finally have your chance. Now go get'em sparky!


	9. The Smell of Things

**Author's Notes: **Lisa725 was recently named best beta in all the universe and the 2007 Omagic recipient for Most Congenial Deconstructor of Creative Non-Publishable Literature. One of the two previous statements is completely true; the other is just the way it should be.

A couple of you uber-kind folk who took the time review asked how/why Harry's wand broke. In short it was caused by the trauma of shoving the wand so hard through Malfoy that it stuck into the brick wall behind him. Wood met stone and wood lost is all. The flames that followed were just the result of the phoenix feather igniting, which may or may not be a reasonable thing for it to do, but I'll play the artistic license card here.

As always, thanks for reading!

**Chapter Nine – The Smell of Things**

I remember wondering as I held that locket for the first time, knowing it held a piece of Voldemort's soul. Does he feel it when a piece of him dies? I know what it felt like when my entire soul was sucked out of my body. And I make no exaggeration when saying I wouldn't want to suffer even one-seventh of that anguish again. I'd rather a lifetime as Colin Creevey's boy toy than experience that again. But…I'd certainly wish it on my worst enemy.

_With that thought in mind, I came to know how I was going to get rid of the Horcrux. Or perhaps it is better to say I realized there would be no other acceptable way to go about it. _

_It took some time to figure out; and as always, I've managed to find the most unreasonable manner to get things done. But if it means there's even the slightest possibility that the Dark Fuck gets to suffer, I'm willing to take on a few hardships to see to it. _

_Unless... _

_Have you got a pet Dementor I could borrow? _

_No? _

_I didn't think so. _

_No matter. Something tells me that after our last encounter I'm unlikely to find a Dementor up for a chitchat and cocoa in front of a slow-burning fire. Still, I can't imagine I burned too many bridges there. I mean, honestly, what upstanding demon would be seen cavorting with a regurgitated soul like me? I'm sloppy seconds, and with all the filthy souls out there these days, who knows what one could catch. _

_Nope! I've got a certain curtain in mind — the sort of magical equivalent of an industrial powered Hoover for the soul. And I'm more than a little tickled by the idea that my recently purgatoried godfather is going to have a complete set of the Essence of Riddle to help decorate his between-life surroundings. _

_xxx_

"Smells like burnt toast with peanut butter," Filmore calmly noted.

"Oh my god, Harry! What have you done?" Hermione gasped. "You…you murdered all those people…and Draco…"

"What the hell does Dobby think he's doing?" Ron interrupted.

The diminutive creature was snapping both fingers and tapping his feet to the cadence of it. With each snap, a portion of Malfoy's remains vanished from the premises. The ash that remained of his head and neck, the smear of blood that stained the wall, the gathering pool of the same that poured from the non-cauterized portions of the stump left atop his shoulders. "Cleaning of course, sir," Dobby said simply.

"A good rat, that is," Filmore quipped.

"They've all gone round, Hermione!" said Ron. "I told you, didn't I? Look at this, look at what he's done, at all of the nutters he's surrounded himself with."

"_I'd take exception to that, but the boy doesn't really know I'm here now, does he?" _Slytherin said. "_Yet interesting as this endless banter may be, I believe we should be going, Harry." _

Harry stared disbelieving at the charred remains of his wand on the floor. It might have been the only weapon he had against Voldemort that the Dark Lord's years of knowledge and greater power couldn't overcome. It was with that wand that he'd first conjured his father's animagus form and drawn his mother and father's ghosts out of Voldemort's wand. It was gone.

The drone of coordinated shouts heard growing louder just outside the bar pulled Harry from his thoughts. He looked at the wand one last time, then up to his friend's judgmental stares, and finally down at Draco's destroyed body.

He sneered and then pointed harshly at Hermione. "If they're people, then Dobby's a unicorn, Ron's a bulimic, you're the world's biggest Quiddich fan, and I'm up for the year's most congenial wizard!" he screamed in an escalating tone. "If you're so appalled at what I'm doing, fine, don't follow after me! No doubt you've got something else that needs crying about."

Harry looked down to Dobby, who was shooting Hermione and Ron a particularly cold glare. "Dobby, let's go," he barked.

"Home, sir?" Dobby asked obediently.

"No, I've got to go to the bathroom… at Hogwarts," Harry replied.

Filmore's eyebrows rose. "Know not what it is you plan, but swear to you, wizard, help hold it for you I will not."

Dobby snapped his fingers just as the Auror squad burst through the pub doors. They arrived just soon enough to see a house elf, a Muggle, and Harry Potter disappear from a position standing above the headless body of Draco Malfoy.

"Everybody drop their wands and lie down face first on the floor," the lead Auror barked.

Filmore, had he been there, would have used the opportunity to point out that Malfoy didn't have a face. But the opportunity for that pun was wasted on the two Gryffindor students who were the only people in the bar still capable of speech or movement. Everyone else remained frozen under the strong force of a house elf's magic.

It didn't take long for the Aurors to put together that most noticeable predicament. "You two," he barked at Hermione and Ron, "was that Harry Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Ron answered meekly.

"Do you know where he was going?"

"He…."

"He didn't say, sir," Hermione quickly interrupted.

The Auror eyed them with suspicion. "Is that correct boy?" he asked Ron.

The youngest male Weasley didn't need to look at his girlfriend's face to know the answer to the question. "Yes sir. He just sneered at us when he heard you at the door, and then they disappeared."

_xxx_

The basilisk smelled bad – like a once-revived-from-the-dead dark lord's morning breath following an all-night bender, an homage to the porcelain god, and a shag from a cheap inferi whore with bad teeth – bad. The combination of the damp chamber air and the rotting snake flesh had elevated the noxious smell well past nauseating and into full chemical warfare. It simply hurt to breath.

Rat droppings littered the area around the carcass, and it wasn't lost on Harry the irony of the role reversal that had taken place. There was some measure of perspective to be gained from that bit of insight; unfortunately, his mind wasn't able to recognize it under the malodorous assault it faced.

Filmore had gone as far as the main entrance to the Chamber of Secrets when he refused to go any farther. He mentioned something to the effect of, "So retched is this smell it makes the skin on the scalp tingle and burn. Hair on this head is becoming an increasingly rare commodity, one that is too great in worth to be sacrificed for the wizard's play stick." Dobby had been rendered useless shortly after he witnessed the serpent's remains. His compunction to clean the epic mess was so fierce that only a direct order from Harry had prevented it. Currently, he was beating a cleft into the chin of Salazar Slytherin's stone image with his head. Harry was too busy maintaining the tender balance of retrieving the fangs of the snake while simultaneously not puking to stop him.

"_Your old digs could use an air freshener and some bleach," _Harry said.

"_It was you who murdered my old friend. I consider her rotting redolence a fitting retort," _The words rolled from Slytherin with a vindictive tone.

Of course Harry had tried other solutions, his bubble-head charm lasted only a few seconds before it audibly fizzled away. Apparently, his magic was too offended to suffer the smell as well. Hell, as soon as the smell had hit his nose, he'd tried a summoning charm, but basilisk fangs were resistant to magic – of course.

Accepting that this task was only going to get done with him elbow deep in rotten basilisk flesh, Harry knelt at the beast's mouth despite the argument of all five of his senses and his magic.

"_So, you made all this Slytherin?" _he asked, looking for a distraction.

"_Yes, for the most." _

"_Is there a story behind why?"_

"_An interesting one actually, highlighted by the account of an epic journey to a far and interesting place, ending in the discovery of a remarkable and terrifying creature."_ Salazar fell silent.

"And…" 

"_And considering the circumstances before me, it's not one I'm inclined to share with you."_

"_Don't blame me for this," _Harry said frankly. "_I'm not the one who sired a lineage hell bent on cleansing the wizarding race by using the pet snake their great, great, __**great**__ grandfather flushed down the girls' toilet." _

"_You make such a compelling argument, honestly, how could I possibly resist telling you now?" _Slytherin drawled.

Harry grimaced as the fang tore within the rancid flesh of the basilisk's jowls. "_Splendid. Well, I'm sure it was a riveting tale. Won the ladies over every time, I'll bet." _Harry did his best to imitate the voice of the man in his head, "_Come, fair madam, be my escort as I reveal to you the secret chamber beneath the loo. There I shall serenade you in serpent tongue, and you may look upon my big fucking snake." _

There was no response.

"_C'mon, Sal, admit it. You used the 'wanna see the snake in my chamber' pick up line back in the day." _

"_I'll allow you this trespass only once. But think on this, how would you feel if it were I ripping the wing off the rotting carcass of your beloved Hedwig so that I might use it for something so rudimentary as a sodding wand core?"_

The basilisk fang ripped free from the snake just as Slytherin finished speaking. Harry stared silently at the object, considering the founder's words. "_Right, sorry about that then," _Harry said casually. "_But still…"_

"_You were doing a serviceable job with only the apology, young Gryffindor," Salazar_ warned.

"_Well, honestly, it's not really the same now is it?" _Harry replied.

"_I'm certain it is."_

"_Hedwig never went about trying to kill you did she? Well, that is, if you were alive when Hedwig was. I mean, if it were possible that you and she were alive at the same time." _Harry paused, trying to decide if he was going to battle through deciphering the proper semantics of what he was trying to argue. He gave up the effort by adding, _"It's not like my owl went about the school petrifying pet cats and killing students." _

"_And here I thought the children of my time were petulant." _

"_Oh come off it, the poor girl that snake killed in Riddle's time haunts the bathroom above the chamber to this very day." _

"_So that justifies you not only killing her but also desecrating the body so you may have a new toy?" _

Harry shrugged in response. "_I'm just saying, it's not the same as Hedwig." _

"_The smell is clearly affecting your better judgment," Slytherin_ responded.

"_I'd be lucky if it stopped there,"_ Harry said. "_Fate is giggling her twisted arse off right about now, I'll bet."_

"_Even this is below the machinations of fate, Harry. This little tryst to plunder the remains of my old friend is wholly due to your compulsive behavior with young Malfoy." _

Harry smiled, even though it burned his throat and lips to open his mouth. "_Yeah, but seeing his head light up like a fucking lantern was pretty cool." _

"_Cool." _Slytherin let the phrase drip with impropriety from his incorporeal lips. "_Yes, I'm sure it'll do wonders toward winning you the popular vote." _

"_Maybe not, but I've already got a guilty conscience and years of repressed anger, so I might as well get to fuck it up for anyone who contributed." _

"_And what of the friends and acquaintances you bring down along way?" _

"_I've intentionally left them out of this for that very reason." _Harry looked at a very wobbly Dobby who was still banging his head against the embossed stone image of Slytherin. "_Besides, I don't think the house elf is going to survive his battle with your statue." _

"_I think you're being intentionally naïve." _

"_The double chin look suits you, Sal, far better than this fucking guilt trip you're trying to lay on me," _Harry replied harshly. "_I'm sorry about your friend. If it makes you feel better, I'll honor her memory by killing as many Death Eating fucks as I can with what I've taken today." _

_xxx_

As promised, Filmore made to start on Harry's wand as soon as they got back. Harry gave him the basilisk fang, which elicited a whistle from the man. "Enough here for several wands," he said. Harry only wanted two.

He followed Trynsington out of the main room in the basement of the house and into the workshop. It was a space he rarely went into due to the mess, and Dobby had to be outright forbidden from entering after Filmore tried to shoot the elf for cleaning it.

Filmore made his way to the corner of the room and uncovered a machine with two wheels atop of it; one was made of grindstone, and the other was a polishing material. Setting the fang down, he retrieved two, one-foot long, slim blocks of a dull, gray metal from a drawer next to the machine. "Your wand, wizard," he said, showing the material to Harry. Then he rolled up the sleeves on both his arms.

"Holy shit!" Harry gasped under his breath.

Filmore raised a single eyebrow at Harry in reply.

Despite his best efforts, Harry couldn't look away. Filmore's forearms were so thick with hair it looked like he was wearing a wool jumper under his shirt. As if the man wasn't awkward enough already.

"_If Trynsington could have an animagus form, it'd no doubt be an ape," _Harry said to Slytherin.

"_I think the apes of this world would be insulted by that comment,"_ Slytherin replied.

It was obvious Filmore was trying to ignore Harry's stare as he turned his attention to the machine in front of him. He had that manic look about him and took to muttering to himself.

The grind of metal on stone had Harry gritting his teeth. Not long after Filmore got started, the smell of heated metal shavings singeing said arm hair began to permeate the room. With the lingering stench of the basilisk seemingly stained on him, the noxious combination had Harry contemplating replacing his nose with the wand material currently against the grindstone. It would solve both the discomfort that the grinding sound was having on his teeth and the nauseating effect the stink was having on his stomach. It's not like the nose wouldn't grow back, Harry reasoned.

"Into seven pieces this Voldemort separated his soul?" Trynsington shouted over the ruckus.

"That's what Dumbledore seemed to think," Harry answered, trying not to look at the man.

"And he is likely to be correct, yes?"

"Aside from Riddle himself, I don't think there was a better person to make a guess."

"A guess!" Filmore huffed. A shower of silver sprinkles sprayed into the air. "Not the sort of thing one wants to gamble about."

"Better than a guess … an estimate based on what evidence was available," Harry responded.

Filmore didn't look any more impressed. "Immortal so that the wizard may spend an eternity chasing his tail," he scoffed. "Six fragments then remain for discovery?"

"That part is where it gets fuzzy. Slytherin and I have spoken about this and as best as we can tell, only two remain. We know for certain that two are destroyed, Riddle's diary and Gaunt's ring. We have the locket that belonged to my brain-buddy, so that's three down. Voldemort himself was killed the evening you saw him fight and kill my dad, so it's reasonable to believe one of his soul fragments was destroyed that night. Finally, he would have had to take a Horcrux back into him in order to return to life the night of his resurrection. Unless, everyone's favorite Dark Lord is currently walking around without a soul. By my count, that leaves two." Harry paused. "Not counting the one still left in him of course."

Filmore stopped the grindstone and stared intently at Harry. "Of seven soul fragments, only three the wizard still has?"

Harry nodded.

"Of course," Filmore said condescendingly. He set down the partially ground piece of metal in his hand and then turned stiffly to face Harry. "The voice of Salazar Slytherin, you claim resides in your head?"

"Yea," Harry answered slowly.

"Is a wizard's soul such a simple thing to be toyed with?" Filmore asked, assuming his point had been made.

"Having had mine removed, run through the extra cold cycle, and forcibly replaced, I'm going to say no. But as you pointed out, you're asking a guy with a voice in his head, so I may not be the best person to attest to that."

"When only a single voice, a problem there is not. Several voices…" Filmore replied flatly.

Harry eyed the man judgingly. "Got some experience with that?"

"It's only troublesome when they argue."

"Dobby is telling the voices that they should only be listening to Harry Potter sir," the house elf contributed as he popped into the room. "They is agreeing and now there are arguments no more."

Filmore looked as if he was actually considering the elf's words. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. He looked to Harry, "So how to find the remaining soul fragments?"

"Haven't figured that part out yet. Dumbledore mentioned some items that he thought might hold a Horcrux, but even with that information I wouldn't know where to look."

"More jewelry like the locket?" Filmore asked.

"A cup, owned by Helga Hufflepuff, and maybe a grimoire that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw."

Filmore looked confused, so Harry added, "He had a thing for stuffing himself inside shit that used to belong to the founders of Hogwarts." Harry motioned with his hands towards the locket, "Slytherin's locket."

Filmore raised both his eyebrows in understanding. "Presume then these are items of value." Harry nodded, and Filmore continued, "And with the wizard's recent transgressions not warmly will he be welcomed to search the fold of the public." Filmore covered his mouth from Harry and spoke to Dobby, "Take note, when one halves a masked wizard in the middle of the street, it is in fact frowned upon and not easily dismissed."

Harry followed along with the ruse and spoke behind his hand to Dobby. Although it turns out to be quite effective at calming a frantic crowd."

Dobby's ears perked slightly as he listened to Filmore and Harry. "The house elves is always saying that when one has lost something, none is being better at finding things then the goblins."

Harry had to do a double take. "The goblins?"

Dobby recoiled a little, as if he'd said something wrong. He spoke quickly, "When house elves is having to find items for their family and is not being able to, sometimes they is trading service with the goblins so that they will find it for them. The families are not knowing we do this, but when we is returning with what is requested. the families think better of their elves."

Harry and Filmore looked blankly at each other.

"_And once again the house elf saves Harry's ass,"_ Slytherin summed up.

"Goblins?" Filmore said quizzically. "Short, gnarly creatures," he described, "with bad teeth?"

Harry nodded, paying little attention to the Muggle as he considered Dobby's information.

"Finders of items are these creatures? Of wizard items?" Filmore added for further clarification. "And this makes sense?"

"They operate the banks," Harry said matter of factly.

Filmore stared blankly for longer than a moment at Harry. "Of course they do," he drawled, "because, butlers are elves, and goblins are bankers…all perfectly normal. Suppose then fairies are who run law enforcement."

"There's no such thing as fairies, Filmore – Pixies perhaps."

_Trynsington_ shook his head and then cranked the grindstone up again. "It is a doomed race, wizardkind."

_xxx_

Dobby marched with a confident stride a couple paces behind Harry as they entered Gringotts early the next morning. All of Diagon Alley was near empty at this time, and even more so since the attack on Hogsmeade. Still, Dobby had been vigilant about watching his master's back, even if that back bore a leather jacket covering a sword and two wands. It wasn't smart to be unprepared just because nasty Death Eaters weren't morning wizards.

The bank was empty but for the few elderly wizards waiting in the single open line, where a particularly harsh goblin sat. Harry hadn't come to deposit a pension check and therefore wasn't going to wait. "Dobby, find whoever it is you would speak to about locating lost items."

Dobby nodded confidently and then popped away. A moment later a small ruckus broke out in an office at the far end of the bank. Harry looked when the door of the office slammed open and two short, fat goblins stomped out and looked back toward Harry. Dobby walked casually past them and began leading them Harry's way.

When they arrived, the lead goblin extended a hand to try and shove Dobby, but the elf snapped his fingers before the goblin could make contact. There was a subtle flash between the elf's fingertips and instantly the offending goblin was sent hurtling backwards. Dobby harrumphed, pleased as he took his position behind Harry once again.

The remaining goblin stared fiercely between his fallen associate and Dobby before looking up at Harry. "Gringotts does not tolerate house elves sent as a summons on behalf of the wizard they serve," he snarled.

"Dobby doesn't serve me," Harry answered just as curtly.

This forced a pause, mostly because the goblin hadn't anticipated such a response; a pained look of confusion fell over his face. "Right, if you don't have an appointment, wait in line or get out," he barked.

"I'm here to make arrangements with Gringotts for the finding of lost items," Harry said. "It would be worth the Goblin's time to hear me out."

"The one at the head of that line will make such a determination," the goblin said, pointing to front of the bank.

Harry turned to Dobby. "Are the goblins I want to talk to in that office?"

Dobby nodded.

Harry briskly shoved past the goblin in front of him and stepped over the fallen one a few steps later. The ignored goblin immediately began growling in gobbledygook and kicked his fallen coworker as he chased after Harry.

Walk at a brisk enough pace and two things become apparent. The first is that goblins, with their short legs, can't keep up; the second is that goblins with their short legs waddle like ducks when they're trying to. Harry took time to appreciate both before he walked through the door to the office.

Inside sat three elder goblins, each in a very Muggle looking business suit. They sat around a large stone table covered in papers and littered with magical objects; in unison they looked up with severe, toothy snarls. Harry didn't waste time staring; he looked to Dobby and then pointed his gaze at the door. Dobby understood, snapping his fingers once more, sealing the door behind them.

Harry opened his mouth but was interrupted by the sounds of the two goblins outside pounding on the door. Harry sighed and shot another look back to Dobby. The elf flinched submissively and then silenced the room with another snap.

The ruckus outside the door stopped, but it was instantly replaced by the shouting of gobbledygook within. Harry yelled over them, "I am Harry Potter. I want to talk to whichever goblin is in charge of finding rare items."

They continued jabbering.

"Compensation is not an issue."

They stopped jabbering.

"Speaking your language now, am I?" Harry added derisively.

The middle and oldest looking of the goblins stood. "You are quite rude, Mr. Potter."

"Manners never were my bag."

The goblin straightened his suit and eyed Harry. "One would think a man with your recent notoriety would be more inclined to discretion, Harry Potter. A fair price could be fetched for your safe delivery to the ministry."

Harry donned a jeering smile. "I'm quite certain any attempt at _delivering_ me to the ministry would be anything but safe."

"You would insult and underestimate us in the same breath wizard child!" the goblin on the left barked.

"I'm here on business; your associate is tossing threats. I'll reply in kind until it gets through your hard little heads!" Harry snapped.

The center wizard gnashed his teeth at the arguing goblin, effectively silencing him mid 'gook. "Speak your peace, wizard,"he said, turning back to Harry.

"Thank you," Harry said with an overtone of insincerity. All three goblins replied with toothy snarls. "As you may know, I've a minor disagreement with the self-proclaimed Dark Lord Voldemort."

The two seated goblins hissed as Harry said the name. The elder goblin raised a hand, silencing them once again. "Disagreement?" he asked questioningly.

"Yes. He wants to kill me and take over the country. I've recently become inclined to reply in kind."

The goblin raised his very hairy gray eyebrows. "Is that to say that you then are also trying to take over the country?"

Harry laughed. "Hardly, the country can get fucked for all I care."

"How elegant of you. What then, is it you want with the Goblins of Gringotts?"

"My associate" — Harry motioned to Dobby — "tells me your kind has a knack for procuring hard-to-find objects."

"Did it?" the goblin said, fixating a menacing stare at Dobby. The house elf didn't as much as blink at the look. "And what is it you wish found, Mr. Potter."

"For starters, the Grimoire of Rowena Ravenclaw and a cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff."

"Those are both considerably rare and quite specific items you desire. Discovery of such objects would likely prove quite difficult."

"But it is possible for you to find them?" Harry interrupted.

"Perhaps. My point, however, is if the Goblins of Gringotts are to enlist in such a venture, the compensation would have to be quite significant. What is it you offer in return?"

Harry took a seat at the table opposite the standing goblin, "What is your name, sir?"

The goblin sat. "I am Ringhurst. My associates are Sarenbock," he said, motioning to his left, "and Flatlar. Your elf's name is Dobby, and you are Harry Potter." A near snarl grew on his lips. "I don't believe that manners have suddenly become…your bag as you say. So don't waste time stalling, wizard!"

Harry let the cold force of his temper push out of him and watched as all three goblins shifted uncomfortably in their seats. "Well, Ringhurst," Harry spat the name, "why don't you conjure up one of those convenient lists of my holdings, and we'll have a look at what I have to offer."

The goblin smiled widely. "Very well, Mr. Potter." Ringhurst waved his hand once towards the door and immediately the ruckus beyond it spilled into the room. The door slammed open and several armed goblins poured in. The elder goblin snapped in Gobbledygook and the Gringotts guards left just as quickly. He waved his hand once more and a parchment register of Harry's holdings and claims appeared in front of each person seated at the table. "The negotiations shall begin," Ringhurst stated with formality.

"_This is a poor approach," _Slytherin said. "_You have given the Goblins all the leverage by sharing with them all that you have to offer, while simultaneously ensuring yourself no method for determining the value of their service." _

Harry considered the founder's words for a moment. "_Maybe you're right, but it's not like I can miss what I didn't know I had". _

"_And if they ask for something on that list that could prove helpful in your battle against Voldemort?"_

"_Then I don't give it to them. Wasn't it you who said knowing your purpose in life is such a great thing? Well, if killing Voldemort is my purpose, then what difference does it make how much gold or wealth I have to give up to do so? As far as I'm concerned, every last Galleon I have is a fair price for the opportunity to kill Riddle." _

"_So there remains no limit to your fatalistic outlook? And with it you remain a fool_!_" _Slytherin snapped.

Harry didn't bother with a reply. He looked through the papers before him and then looked up to Ringhurst, "How much will it cost?"

"How much, Mr. Potter? You are mistaken, sir. If compensation truly is no issue, then our services will not be garnered by something as common as gold."

Harry's stomach lurched. _Say nothing_. He snarled in his head.

"What do you want then?" Harry said curtly.

"A quite fair offer in our estimation, and something you would likely never be able to make use of for yourself."

"Something for nothing, is that what you would have me believe?" Harry retorted.

"No, not nothing wizard. I will not presume you a fool."

Slytherin took to rolling laughter in Harry's head at the comment.

"What we would require for our services is not based in pecuniary worth." Ringhurst straightened to his full height in the chair. "We require that the legal rights and standings bestowed to the families Black and Potter be transferred to the Goblins of Gringotts."

Slytherin stopped laughing for a moment and then broke into even heavier fits of laughter. "_I want a body, two handmaidens, and an aphrodisiac__tonic, but I don't see any spleen of Veela lying around. This must be what it's like watching a troll resolve an argument peacefully."_

Harry did his best to block the man out

"And what would you do with those titles if I agreed to these terms?" Harry said, shouting slightly despite the fact that no one else could hear Slytherin's fits beyond him.

Slytherin stopped laughing entirely.

"What Gringotts would do with the titles is not your concern, Mr. Potter. If recollection serves, it was you who said the country can get fucked."

"_Are you mad, Potter? Under no circumstances can you give the goblins the power of your family titles." _Slytherin yelled. "_Beyond the political ramifications this would have, you would certainly be convicted of treason." _

Harry processed this information but did not reply to Slytherin, "You say that you don't presume me a fool, Ringhurst. But you ask a price that would have me convicted of treason. Or is that the part you mentioned about me not being able to make use of the titles?"

"Convicted of treason against a country you obviously hold no allegiance to?" Ringhurst asked rhetorically. "Still, despite any transactions you might undertake this day, it is your latest transgressions in Hogsmeade that assure you will be denied the privileges of your titles."

"But if I relinquish them to you, those privileges will somehow endure? That seems unlikely."

"I also fail to see how that is your concern," Ringhurst stated flatly.

"Harry, listen to me. You cannot do this; you have no idea the ramifications. Wars were fought over this, treaties signed. Are you so selfish that you would undo all that for revenge?"

Harry sat in silence for a moment, which the goblins respected. "_Listen Salazar, maybe I don't see the ramifications, and yeah, maybe I'm being selfish by not trying to do so. But this society was in the shitter long before I came along, and nothing leads me to believe better days are on the way. Are you going to tell me that with everything it's gotten wrong, the terms agreed to with the goblins were the one thing they got completely right? Not likely." _Harry sighed. "_Don't make me have to offer you the same insincere apology I gave those hypocrites at Hogwarts". _

Slytherin growled with frustration. "_Fine, Harry, but if this is a negotiation, then I plead to you on my behalf don't give them both titles. With those votes, the land and business ownership rights, the ability to take on house elves as servants, and their already established control of the banks, their power would be too great. Surely it would force another war, that's if the current one is survived. _

Harry listened and took in Slytherin's words. "_Fine, I will give them the Black's title. I might as well sully an already rotten name." _

"_Understand this, Harry, wizards in both this life and the afterlife will hate you for what you are about to do today."_

"_Nothing – in either life – has shown me I should expect anything less." _Harry sat silently for several moments longer, considering all that Slytherin said to him. Finally, he looked back up to Ringhurst. "This is a good starting point Ringhurst."

"Starting point, wizard?" Ringhurst said, veiling the disappointment in his tone.

"You said you didn't take me for a fool. Did you assume I would simply agree to your first offer?"

The three goblins began conversing in Gobbledygook. Harry interrupted, "If you continue to talk in front of me in that language I will ask that your associates leave."

Ringhurst bared his teeth. "Who do you think you are wizard?"

"Let's skip the bullshit, Goblin. You can't get what's up for offer here from any other wizard in the country, perhaps the world. Entire wars were fought for this sort of power; treaties were argued and signed over it. Now you're negotiating for a piece of that power from me — and for what, a mug and a notebook of naughty spells from a couple dead, old ladies? Understand that if this is what you wish to negotiate over, I will set the terms."

Sarenbock began shouting in Gobbledygook, but Ringhurst silenced him immediately. "Very well, wizard, we will respect your wishes. Now, what are your terms?"

"I really don't care what the Goblins want to do with a family title. But I'm not so thick that I'll allow my actions to lead the country into another war. Wizarding Britain can indeed get fucked, but I'd rather the goblins wait their turn. I don't know her well, but I got the feeling she's not a two at a time kind of girl."

"You're euphemisms remain in the highest taste," Ringhurst said.

"It's a talent." Harry smiled ruefully. His face then went rigid. "I will only offer you the rights to the Black family title."

Flatlar slammed his fist on the stone table. "This is an outrage! He would presume to offer us not only half of what we ask, but the lesser half at that!"

Harry turned to Flatlar and spoke with a calm, but firm tone. "Flatlar, you and your associates assumed that when you saw me you would be able to take advantage. You assumed I was a naïve child who would see the chance to get what I wanted without giving up so much as a Knut in return. Your assumptions will cost you dearly." Harry stood and walked to the corner of the room, inspecting the book titles and objects on the shelves there.

"You tipped your hands to your greatest desire from me and now have nothing else to bargain up to, nor have you any knowledge of what else I might desire in return." Harry looked back to Ringhurst. "If I'm wrong, then I should leave, or we should begin anew."

Flatlar wrung his fists so tight you could see the white of his knuckles through his green skin. Ringhurst noticeably deflated. "Mr. Potter," apparently they were now back on respectable terms, "you see things well, beyond what could be expected from a child of your age."

"I've had some unique perspectives," Harry replied.

Ringhurst nodded, "Still, if you believe yourself to have such command of negotiation, then surely you understand that in lessening your counter-offer Gringotts will offer a lesser service in return."

"I wasn't done," Harry snapped. "As I see it, the benefits the goblins will garner from the Black family title will continue long after you have found the items I desire. In that regard, I demand that the goblins be willing to search and locate up to seven items, should it be necessary."

"_Seven?_" Salazar questioned.

"_Who's to say Voldemort has been out there replenishing his supply_?" Harry replied.

"_That's unlikely_."

"_And that matters because?_"

"Apparently you do not understand," Ringhurst said. "You offer less and ask for more."

"We all know that the value of the Black family title is more than worth what I ask for. However, I have something else to offer and with it further terms."

"You try our patience to the limits, wizard," Sarenbock snapped.

Harry continued without acknowledging the comment. "I have come into possession of a very valuable journal that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin. Within is information that not only offers a very different perspective on how Salazar Slytherin might be perceived, but also an advance in blood magic that has not been made since the time of the founders. Specifically," Harry lowered his tone for effect, "an advance in blood magic for mixed blood witches and wizards."

"_Harry what in the hell are you doing?" _Slytherin barked.

"Fulfilling my obligation to correct history's misplaced reputation for you."

"_Through the goblins!" _Slytherin yelled incredulously.

Harry anticipated this and waited for Slytherin to stop cursing before he spoke. "_They are singularly motivated by amassing wealth, they have no bias in the perception of wizard history as it relates to you, and well, it's a hell of a bargaining chip," _Harry argued.

"_I'm quite certain Hogwarts would be a more appropriate location. More so, I am positive that the goblins would have a greater interest in withholding information that could lead to wizard kind making leaps and bounds in their power."  
_

"_First off, do you really think that Hogwarts will admit it has been wrong about you for the past few centuries, all in the name of academic advances? They'll happily take the information but conveniently leave out it was you who provided it. I may just be a petulant child, but even I know better than that. Second, I only mentioned a single journal. We give them the notes for something that would not affect the balance against them – Occlumency perhaps. This ensures that their desire for wealth outweighs any other concerns they might have." _

"_It's a risk, Harry. Too great a risk perhaps." _

"_It's not like I couldn't release the information myself at a later time if they tried to withhold it. Plus, I don't think they'd even accept the offer if they didn't plan on turning a hell of profit for it. It's useless to them locked away." _

"_I found you more agreeable when you were a brooding, simple-minded, Thestral." _Salazar relented.

"Well if you promise to behave, maybe I'll fly us home."

"How did you come to possess this journal, Mr. Potter?" asked Ringhurst.

"I have a good source."

"Or perhaps, someone as disreputable as yourself killed the previous owner and now seeks to launder the value through Gringotts."

Harry felt slighted at being called disreputable, but despite his efforts he couldn't find room to argue the point. Kill enough people, bargain for terms that'll earn you a treason sentence, light up a Malfoy like a jack-o-lantern, and these sorts of slights come into play.

"The worth of these journals is tremendous. Not only would this bring back a lost art form for magical development — at a price to be determined by Gringotts, of course — but if you know anything about blood magic and its history surrounding mixed and pure-blood wizards, you'll know that possession of such knowledge is quite a bargaining chip."

The three goblins shared a look between them as easily read as a child's pop up book. Ringhurst was the first to gather himself, "If it's so valuable, why offer it in trade? Why not claim the profit for yourself?"

"It's like you said, Ringhurst, a wizard as disreputable as me is in no position to go touting pro-Salazar Slytherin propaganda and selling off blood magic information. This is my best opportunity to turn value on the information."

The Goblins looked unconvinced. "Take it or leave it," Harry replied. "If you honestly give a witch's tit how I got the information, I offer my…_disreputable_ word I didn't kill or rob anyone for it. I discovered the journal. I checked that the potion works."

"What magic is gained from this knowledge?" Ringhurst asked.

Harry paused to allow Slytherin a chance to answer. "_Occlumency is best_," e said without conviction. "Occlumency," Harry confirmed to the goblins.

"And your terms?" Ringhurst asked.

"I have few terms. I will relinquish the rights and privileges of the Black Family title to the Goblins of Gringotts, and I will provide you with a copy of Salazar Slytherin's journal. In return, I ask that you find the items I discussed, plus up to seven future items. Further, when Gringotts sees fit to make available the information within the journal, under no circumstance does the fact Salazar Slytherin authored the journal go undisclosed."

"What matter is it to you if Slytherin's association is mentioned?" Ringhurst asked.

"I fail to see how that is your concern," Harry replied.

The great thing about magical contracts is the ironclad bonds they create, and the challenge of finding loopholes around them at a future date. Despite his reluctance, Slytherin was a master wordsmith, and he basically told Harry what to demand and how it should be written in the contract. In the end, the Goblins would have sold the keys to the vault in return for what Harry was giving them, and both sides knew it. Because of that, he got damn near every little nuance he asked for.

The goblins agreed they would sell or use the information in Slytherin's journal in whatever fashion profited them best – but they _would_ release the information, and they would specifically mention Slytherin's proper association. Also the Goblins relented to use whatever influence they garnered from the Black Family title against Voldemort. This made them an alley, even if a reluctant one. Of course, they would also find the objects requested and up to seven more should Harry desire.

The negotiations closed, and neither side was offering handshakes or toasts to 'long life and good health'. Harry didn't mind, "So do I get a free chess set or a personal pensieve for opening a negotiations account with Gringotts?"

The goblins responded with synchronized snarls.

"Oh come on fellas, not even a keychain?" Harry taunted.

As best as Harry could interpret, Flatlar's offering could only be interpreted as the goblin equivalent to the finger.

"_I think I'm rubbing off on him._" Harry told Salazar as he left.

_xxx_

**Closing Notes: **Thanks again to Von. Also thanks and welcome to those folks from PP3. Happy Fourth of July to the American folk, may you have enjoyed many none structurally damaging, yet colorful explosions, whilst simulaneously keeping all of your fingers and limbs.

You likey chapter 9? You leave a review, maybe yes?


	10. Till Death Do Us Part, Part I

**Author's Notes: **A thank you to Lisa725 for beta-ing another chapter. This is one of my favorite chapters, hence it being in two parts, and was also one of the first that my twisted muse (we call her Belinda) shared with me when this fic idea was birthed. I can only hope I did her (Belinda) justice with my ability to put it to words. Hope you like it.

**Chapter 10 – 'Till Death Do Us Part, Part I**

_The problem making a deal with the Goblins is they expect you to make good on the terms. That meant another veneer of Harry entrails for the walls of the potions lab at the house. Swell. It helped less that Slytherin wasn't nearly as meticulous in his ministrations the second time round. But I guess it's to be expected considering I reduced the extracted remains of his pet basilisk to dentures in my new wands. In the end, the job got done, and now my mind is as solid as Gringotts' vaults. _

_Ultimately none of this shit matters. The journey is meaningless; all I'm worried about is the destination. The way I figure, I'm about two-thirds the way there; I'm standing at the corner of 'Showdown with Voldemort Blvd' and 'Two Shiny new Wands Lane'; and I'm looking at the road ahead. I can't say I mind the view too much either. _

_Filmore is certainly pleased with himself these days. He presented two twelve-inch, cadmo … tite … poly-chromium some such or other metal with basilisk tooth core wands. You'd have thought he was handing over his porn collection for all the to-do he made. Insanity and hairy arms aside, I have to give it to the Muggle. Those wands work better than my phoenix feather wand ever did. Filmore tells me it has to the do with conductivity of the metal to the flow of magic through it. He then went on at great length about how rudimentary wizarding knowledge of technology is and something about using toothpicks for weapons. Who am I to argue? The custom grip he contoured into the metal was a nice touch, but what really bring it home are the sharpened tips. You know, in case I get the urge to tracheotomize another Malfoy. _

_I had Dobby deliver the scrolls to Gringotts as soon as they were prepared. Then I found myself with three weeks of nothing to do but wait for a response. Filmore stopped training with me shortly after. Even without using Apparition, I'd gotten good enough to beat him consistently. He's stronger and certainly more skilled with a sword, but since the Flash Apparition blood potion, my speed became enough to overcome his advantage. Dueling graduated to instructing, and that's like sitting through a theory class on herbology. _

_Slytherin, despite his grumpy attitude of late, took to showing me multi-spell casting, which really just means casting the same spell out of two wands at once. It's tremendously draining on the magical core, but wouldn't you know there's a blood potion for increasing that as well – which is the reason why the walls in living area match those in the potion lab. But if ever you find the need for someone to teach you how to paint a faux finish with blood, I'm your man. _

_Idle time is a bad thing for a fatalist with a guilty conscience who's focused on carnage and revenge. Once you take away the carnage and revenge, all it leaves behind is the guilt. For that reason I claim zero accountability for my attendance at the Weasley-Delacour wedding. _

xxx

Harry approached the Burrow with certain trepidation. For all that he might have owed to the Weasleys, no amount of obligation to the family outweighed the risk in being at the wedding. His compromise came in knowing no one was likely to notice. He would stick to the background, hidden on the outskirts of the event. In that matter, Fate smiled on him with the wedding being held at the Burrow. It was familiar territory so all the best hiding spots and escape routes were known commodities. Harry would be a guest, but only in spirit, and only he would know – at least that was the plan.

Despite his best attempts to fight back the warm fuzzies, being at the Burrow was a balm to his irascible conscience, offering relief from the constant chaos that now defined his life. For the first time since he'd been spit back on this earth, he was doing something simply because it was the right thing to do. Then again, that was the sort of logic three weeks of down time fostered — or so the Slytherin voice in his head told him.

After all, he wasn't exactly on good terms with…roughly estimating – everyone who would be there. Getting noticed, and thus earning any credit for actually showing up, would be a showstopper. Plus it meant his new wands would get their first test run on the people he used to call friends.

_Fate smiles to your face; behind your back, she's got sand paper and rubbing alcohol. _

He arrived disillusioned and immediately located a cluster of trees to hide behind. In what he considered a fine bit of charm work, Harry shrunk Filmore's vest so it fit snuggly and then turned it white. In doing this, it matched the white pants, shirt, and overcoat he also altered. The look certainly wasn't anything Madam Malkin's would be selling next season, but it was passable. He figured even if his intentions were to not be seen, there was no sense in acting like what he intended was usually what went down.

_Look the part; this way when all hell breaks loose, it appears as if you planned it that way. _

He settled into a spot amongst the grouping of trees about a hundred meters or so from the festivities. Even from that distance it was obvious there were way too many people present for comfort. Whether it was the Delacours or the Weasleys who were to blame it didn't matter; both families knew better.

At this point, there was nothing for it, so Harry took to admiring the suddenly glorious state of the Weasley property. The yard around the Burrow was usually a pretty drab spot. The pond was small and lifeless and the grass an annual shade of brown and yellow – but not on this day.

The seating area in front of the pond was covered with rows of highly adorned, white chairs. Matching white streamers swam around the seating, charmed to provide a faux boundary for the event. The grass was lush and a bright shade of green, and the pond was a deep, clean blue that rivaled that of the lake around Hogwarts. The open space above the seating had been charmed, much like the ceiling of the Great Hall, to match the decorations adorned on the chairs and along the aisle. As it was a perfectly cloudless and sunny day, this bit of work stood in impressive contrast all the more. The archway under which the couple was to be wed sat on a conjured, grassy island in the middle of the pond; it was accessed by a white, wooden bridge that floated above the water rather than on it.

Harry estimated there were at least a hundred seats on either side of the aisle. Most of them were already filled, and people were gathering behind the chairs to watch the wedding from a stand. Noticeable among those standing were various Aurors Harry recognized, all doing their best to appear as observant guests of the ceremony and not as the sentinels they truly were. Moody was there, and he was the only one who was a cause for concern. There was a good chance the man's mad eye could detect him; and if it did, the old Auror wasn't one let something as silly as propriety get in the way of making an arrest.

The crowd began to settle, and Harry shifted to his Thestral senses. It had the downside of providing Harry visual and olfactory evidence of which witches were possibly suffering from cramps, bloating, and breast tenderness; but it also meant he could hear everything. The prior information might have been useful were he looking for whom to avoid from the easy shag supply weddings usually provide, the later and intended benefit simply allowed him to hear the vows and speeches.

What he didn't expect was the sudden ability to see the wards surrounding the Burrow. Slytherin took note of this and suggested predictably it was the blood magic mixing with his animagus magic. The founder's useful contribution came when he shared with Harry what each visible ward was intended to do.

The enchanted instruments began playing, so Slytherin shut up. The conversation amongst the wedding guests died down as well, and Harry ignored the literal crimson tides he saw to watch the first bride's maid approach.

xxx

It had been a week since the massacre took place at the Weasley-Delacour wedding when Ringhurst appeared in Godric's Hollow. Goblins had very specific customs regarding grieving periods and the proper terms for reestablishing business talk with those aggrieved. According to those customs, Harry Potter still had another cycle of the moon before he was to be approached. Ringhurst didn't intend to wait. He reasoned to himself that it was questionable at best whether Harry was or was not to be considered an aggrieved party from what transgressed at the wedding ceremony gone wrong.

Ringhurst rapped his knuckles against the door-less doorframe that stood in front of the house ruins in Godric's Hollow. The ashen archway remained despite the fact that it looked as if a strong wind could blow it over at any moment. Standing there waiting for a response he wasn't sure was coming, the goblin actually hoped the frame would collapse. At least then it might draw the attention of the inhabitants residing beneath the ruined home. The frame held, and no such dramatic event announced the guest.

It wasn't needed. A moment later, Dobby popped to a position a few paces behind Ringhurst, gasped, and popped back to the basement of the house before Ringhurst had the opportunity to turn and see the elf.

"The goblins is being out front Master Harry Potter sir!" Dobby announced.

Trynsington bolted from the living area where he was reading and into his workspace. "Right the rat is!" he shouted from the room. "In the middle of the yard it stands, like an ugly garden statue. Hold on…is it…it _is _wearing a suit."

Harry stormed up the stairs, removing one of his metal wands from the wooden support beam it was staked into on his way. Dobby followed at the wizard's heels, just managing to squirt out past the basement hatch before Harry shut it on him.

The late night air was thick and overly warm. It left a blanketing humidity that made Harry's clothes stick to him almost as soon as he stepped into it. Spotting Ringhurst standing in front of the empty doorframe, Harry had to wonder how in the hell the goblin hadn't melted wearing that suit — though it was hardly the most pressing query on his mind.

"A – What are you doing here?" Harry said forcibly through a hushed tone. "And B – how in the hell did you find me?"

Ringhurst stood calm and dignified. "Ah, Mr. Potter, if I might be so bold, a door chime would prove useful."

"Those are for houses intending to receive guests," Harry replied simply.

Ringhurst waited for further response. None came, though a not-so-subtle growl could be heard from behind Harry. Ringhurst peered past the human to see an elf staring fiercely back at him. "Then perhaps you might call off your pet," he said with noted disdain.

Harry looked back at Dobby and saw the elf standing, hands planted at his hips, chest forward, brow furled, and a snarl on his lips. He looked back to Ringhurst. "He hasn't eaten yet tonight."

Ringhurst's face turned from smug to outrage. "Are you going to invite me in, wizard?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"No,." Harry said. "Why are you here?"

Ringhurst pulled at his suit and adapted an officious tone, "You have an arrangement with the Goblins of Gringotts. I have come to present our first return on that accord."

"Right then, and B, how in the hell did you find me?"

Ringhurst laughed mockingly. "Mr. Potter, you came to the Goblins of Gringotts requesting that highly difficult-to-find objects be found. Surely you don't believe it beyond our capacity to discover your location as well."

Harry wavered for a minute between different responses. "Then you've got the location of the first object for me?" he settled.

Ringhurst's smile settled into a disturbing, toothy, smirk. "No, Mr. Potter. I have brought the object with me."

Harry couldn't contain his disbelief. "You _have_…that's to say, I mean I didn't think…rather, I thought our arrangement was for locating the objects, not actually retrieving them."

"Considering the stakes on which our agreement is based, the Goblins of Gringotts saw prudence in discovering what in fact, it was we were locating for a wizard with a reputation…such as yours."

Harry's dumfounded gape contorted into a stern stare.

"May I come in _now_, wizard?"

"Should I Chunnel the banker's head, Harry?" Filmore called out from behind a pile of debris.

The three turned in unison to look at the source of the voice. If Ringhurst was surprised, he didn't show it. "Don't waste the bullet," Harry replied.

Filmore set his rifle down and walked toward the group. He twitched a couple times as he stared intently at the goblin. Ringhurst remained still as Filmore approached him, performed a slow, scrutinizing lap around him, sniffed the shoulder of his suit, and then firmly poked him in the arm. Content, Filmore stepped casually in front of the Goblin and leaned down so they were face to face. "My credit is pants." he said.

Ringhurst smiled toothily. "I eat Muggle babies."

Filmore's face remained stoic as he stood straight and turned to Harry, "Worse things have bankers done."

The goblin snorted, though in amusement or disgust it wasn't discernible. "Although this has been most informative, may we finally come to business?"

xxx

Harry watched as the first bride's maid made her way to the center of the aisle where Ron met her. Harry's chest hitched as he saw his former best friend towering over an unfamiliar girl he assumed to be a friend of Fleur's. The remnant emotions of a life past made him feel like choking himself for the implications. Ron had that awkward smile on his face that he carried when he was interacting with a girl he found attractive. Harry made a conscious effort of beating down the fleeting twinge of familiarity sensed in the presence of a close friend.

The next girl up the aisle was also someone Harry didn't recognize, but she was equally as beautiful. Fred, who looked like he was putting forth an effort to remain reserved, met her.

Ginny followed, and an unwelcome lump formed in Harry's throat. At this point, he was sure the three down weeks had driven him nuts; he might as well trade in the white coat now for a straight jacket. The young witch looked amazing in her dress robes, and the overwhelming smile on her face seemed to indicate that she knew it. Images of kissing her and feeling her smile at him came to mind, left out was the ridiculous sensation of a monster in his stomach. Maybe the straightjacket diagnosis was premature. He was now a monster onto himself, and in accepting that he realized these emotions were just old memories fighting for the life where they used to matter.

George met her at the aisle and escorted her to the island with the rest of the bridal party.

The approach of Gabrielle Delacour shook Harry from his reverie of Ginny; she was painfully beautiful, more so than Fleur had ever been, which seemed unfair considering it was supposed to be the elder Veela's day. Charlie met the young girl there, and it was obvious that he was having a difficult time drawing his eyes away as she took his arm.

The music stopped and then changed to a song Harry did not recognize. Everyone who wasn't already standing rose, and Harry noticed it was the cause of considerable distress for the Aurors. Fleur began her walk towards the aisle, and Harry had perhaps the best view of her. Both her parents escorted her, though they seemed to be holding her up more than actually walking with her down the aisle. Harry saw clearly that her shoulders hitched on more than one occasion, like she was crying.

He couldn't see her face as it was hidden under a veil. It left only her body language to convey the radiance, beauty, and grace that typified a bride on her wedding day. Unfortunately she wasn't managing anything close to that.

They reached the island, and Bill had to actually meet Fleur's parents to take his bride from them, as she was clearly unable to manage on her own. By now her behavior was growing beyond the acceptable limits of odd; still, none of the numerous guests responded.

"_Must be a Veela thing,"_ Harry thought.

"_Not likely,"_ Slytherin replied. "_They are a species that places grace above almost anything else." _

"_Then why does everyone seem so calm about it?"_

"_Nobody wants to seem inappropriate,"_ Slytherin replied, disgust evident in his voice. _"Fools."_

Harry couldn't see anything peculiar around Fleur. She wasn't bleeding, and there were no other scents or warded magic around her that seemed out of place.

The music died down and the vows began. Harry listened as the individual marrying the couple announced that they would be delivering their own vows; Fleur was to go first. She hitched once more, and the sound of her sob reached the audience as a sonorous charm had been activated for her.

"My Bill…" she managed and then sniffled, "eet eez incumbent upon me…"

Harry felt his scar explode! He collapsed to his knees and clasped his hand over his forehead, trying to ease the pain. It took a moment for him to orient himself, but slowly he built his Occlumency shields up and was able to keep the presence at bay.

He looked back to the wedding and saw nothing out of order. Frantically he searched the area around him – nothing. He looked in the trees above him – still nothing. Then Fleur's voice cut through.

"…eez…incumbent…" she sobbed but it caught half way through and then suddenly she stood straight. "Eet eez incumbent upon me zat I take dees most public opportunity to zay…eet's not wise to take ze Dark Lord's name in vain." Her voice was sinister, though it was hardly noticeable over the gasps coming from the audience.

Fleur released Bill's hands and took a step away from him. "Eet seems zat during ees absence, you have all forgotten ze rules." She pulled her wand from the cuff of her arm-length white glove. "Dees eez punishable by death."

Bill's eyes went wide as he realized his bride was pointing her wand at him. She sobbed noticeably one last time before she twitched and hissed, "Avada Kedavra!"

xxx

The banker stood in the middle of the living area beneath the house doing his goblin best not to touch anything. Custom tailored, designer suits weren't an easy thing to come by for the near one-meter crowd, and Ringhurst had seen gryphon stalls better kept than this place. "For a wizard of your wealth, you choose interesting accommodations, Mr. Potter."

"You were clever enough to find me. You know what this place is. Leave it be."

Ringhurst nodded his head slightly and then reached into his suit jacket to retrieve the grimoire. It was a thin, black, leather booklet, covered in plastic wrapping through which you could see gold runes on the cover. Gold filigree was set into the binding, and a large embossed Raven was on the back.

The goblin set the item down on the table before Harry. "Many goblins died retrieving this grimoire, Mr. Potter."

"Let me guess. Reanimated corpses, ward traps, and some sort of kill yourself to get it kind of contraption?" Harry saw a shocked response from the goblin that confirmed his suspicions. "Don't you hate it when that happens?"

Recovering Ringhurst responded, "Of course, considering what is within – death would be integral."

"It's a book of black magic…"

"It _was_ a book of black magic," Ringhurst interrupted. "It is a vessel now. One that contains a soul fragment, and it is easy enough to deduce whose soul."

"And that changes things?" Harry asked.

"There was some discussion in that direction."

Ringhurst reached into his suit jacket once more and retrieved a solid, glossy black gem the size of a galleon. As he set it on the table next to the grimoire, thick swirling streams of blood red appeared from the center of the stone and flowed toward the edge of the gem nearest the book. When the reaction finished, the entire right side of the gem was filled with the hue while the opposite end remained entirely black.

"The Goblins of Gringotts believed they had brokered a deal strongly in their favor with you, Mr. Potter. They, like me, made the mistake of believing you a foolish child seeking power. It seems knowing what we know now, a fair exchange has been exacted."

"_Never in all my existence did I believe such a thing to be real," _Slytherin said.

"_Well it's not like they've been swindling wizards since you had a body, Slytherin,"_ Harry snapped back.

"_No, moron, the stone…it's Semblac Infensor." _

"Semblac Infensor?" Harry repeated in a whisper.

Ringhurst's stare snapped to Harry. "What do you know of these words, wizard!"

Harry shook from his conversation with Slytherin. "The stone, that's what it's called."

"How do you know this?" Ringhurst continued harshly.

Harry quickly gathered his composure and calmly stared down the goblin. "Ringhurst, I came to you seeking out the remains of the darkest-wizard-in-England's soul…" He left the statement hanging.

"You are a dangerous warlock; the Goblins of Gringotts will not again underestimate you."

"Does that mean we can't still be friends?"

The comment went ignored. "As I was saying, many goblins died to retrieve this book. However once in our possession, we could not access its contents."

"Because if the power hungry child wanted a book of dark magic the goblins were going to be damn sure they knew what was in it first," Harry added.

"Naturally," Ringhurst responded. "It was during our attempts to unlock the manual that Sarenbock went quite mad. He was able to reveal to us why just before his head was removed by goblin axe." The goblin pointed to the half black half blood red gem. "A moment later and my departed associate would have been successful in destroying Semblac Infensor." The goblin examined Harry's reaction as he stared at the objects on the table. "As you are already familiar with the Goblin name for the sacred stone, I will assume you do not need an explanation of its powers."

Slytherin responded promptly to the cue. "_It was believed during the Goblin Rebellions that the goblins possessed an artifact that could remove the magic from a wizard. Though it was never discovered how the object worked, or what the object was, toward the end of the 1__st__ Rebellion it was this gem that nearly provided the goblins the weapon needed to win the war." _

"_But they lost the war. How?" _

"_We created the inferi_."

Harry could sense Slytherin's pause and waited.

"_And then used their own dead against them. The Goblins surrendered shortly thereafter, unwilling to fight a war against dead brethren. Doing so goes against everything they believe. We knew this and took advantage." _

"_We wonder why everything not human hates us, and the line for 'next dark lord' is as long as Dumbledore's beard."_

"_No sentient race is without shame in its past." _

"_Some just became used to it and now accept it as the norm," _Harry spat. "_So, should I be worried about the little green guy here trying to suck my magic from me?" _

"_I can't be certain. I'd tell you to proceed with caution, but that would be a waste of advice." _

Harry focused back on Ringhurst. "I know the fuzzy details. Magic rock, got an appetite for a wizard's magic, been around since the rebellions." Harry eyed Filmore, who was standing to his left. The Muggle shifted from his position and started circling to the other side of the goblin. "That being said, am I on the menu this evening?"

Rinhurst frowned. "Semblac Infensor is much more than a weapon, wizard. And if it was my intent to cause you harm, do you think I really would have placed myself in such a disadvantageous position?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's like you said, people have been underestimating me for a while now."

"No, Mr. Potter. I am a businessman, not a warrior. If I come for you, it will be from behind a mound of paper and legislation so thick you'll scarcely be able to cast a light spell without my permission."

xxx

Bill fell dead in the place where he stood.

"NO!" Molly Weasley screamed.

Harry turned his eyes in search of the Weasley matron only to find a dark clad individual standing at the very back of the crowd. It was Voldemort.

The wedding party on the island ran to Bill and Fleur, the Weasleys crowding around their dead brother while Fleur's sister and friends ran to the bride. Gabrielle reached for Fleur's wand, but the elder Veela wouldn't release it. Her friends saw this and attempted to shake Fleur from her trance, but she didn't react to their ministrations. The bewitched bride simply stood stiffly in place with her arm still extended in the direction of where her groom had once been.

The Aurors began fighting through the panicked crowd to get to the island when Voldemort spoke up.

"Now this is what I call a wedding." His voice carried easily over the screaming crowd.

Everyone looked to him in response, and all at once every single face went pale as recognition struck. Voldemort didn't even smirk for the reaction. "Fleur dear, finish what you started."

Silence, but for the muffled sobs echoing through the crowd, every head turned to watch what the murderous bride would do next. Unable to conjure even the slightest resistance to the Dark Lord's _Imperius _curse Fleur pointed her wand at her heart and screamed, "_Reducto_." The curse blasted through her and covered everyone on the island in a mist of blood.

There was another brief moment of silence until one inevitable, piercing scream shook the crowd from their horrified stares; complete pandemonium broke out. People began running in every direction that was away from Voldemort. In the midst of it all, Harry watched in disbelief as Voldemort stood there, arms folded, smiling.

His Thestral eyes keenly saw the now abundant streams of blood scent traveling towards him. But then he noticed several flashes of light that interrupted those streams; light that signaled the arriving apparitions of Death Eaters. That meant the wards had fallen, and it was exactly what he needed to spring into action.

Without hesitation he took off in a sprint towards Voldemort. No more than two steps in, Voldemort turned to face him. "I was certain I felt your presence here, Harry."

Harry didn't waste time with a response, instead he Apparated to the gap of open space behind Voldemort. A puff of black smoke snapped around him, and he was on the ground running towards the back of Voldemort. Voldemort spun instantly, and Harry raised his hand as he Apparated once again directly behind Voldemort. Another puff of black smoke, and he was only a pace away from the Dark Lord.

Blinded by the black vapor, Voldemort sensed his enemy behind him once again and quickly tried to turn. It wasn't fast enough, and all he managed to do was swing his head into the oncoming fist.

From a distance all that could be seen was the white blur that was Harry, three puffs of black smoke on alternating sides of the Dark Lord, and finally from the last cloud of smoke a fist appeared. Harry stepped through the punch with the full force of his momentum and landed a blow that lifted Voldemort from his feet and sent him flying through the back three rows of chairs.

When the smoke cleared, only Harry was left standing where Voldemort had once been. "Can you feel me now?" he snarled.

xxx

"So what's with the Saran wrap around the book?" Harry asked as he lifted the grimoire from the table. In the absence of the Horcrux the blood red hue on the Semblac Infensor dissipated back into itself almost instantly. "Don't tell me all you need to keep the Volde-mini sterile is a plastic wrap cover?"

Ringhurst grinned. "Quite so, Mr. Potter. As long as the skin does not come into contact with the item, it is not possible for the essence within to affect the holder."

"No shit," Harry stated. "…And the goblins just have this stuff lying around?"

"In the Department of Underestimation, it is wizards who have been leading the way for some time now. The goblins long ago realized the ingenuity of Muggles." Ringhurst eyed Filmore after saying this, "and the endless amounts of profit to be made taking advantage of them."

"And your leftovers keep longer," Harry added.

Harry tossed the grimoire back onto the table carelessly. He stared for a moment at the Semblac Infensor, waiting for the blood red hue to return. Once it did so, Harry turned his gaze to the goblin. "What's the deal then, Ringhurst? Why come out all this way and deliver this yourself? Why show me the rock with the magic-be-gone?"

"Because in order to build trust, one must sometimes first display it," Ringhurst responded.

"Then you want something more from me?"

"Only the truth, or at least the version you would have to offer. The Goblins of Gringotts, and I, wish to know how such a thing was created and to what end. You negotiated in our agreement the possible location of up to seven objects; a magically powerful number. Are we to interpret that there are then seven fragments of the Dark Lord's soul?"

Harry thought for a moment. "And for this information, you'll tell me more about that gem?"

"Should the information you provide deem valuable. I come with an offer that should aid in your cause."

"_What do you think, Sal?" _

"_Now you want my advice?" _Slytherin scoffed. "_I never thought you should have approached the goblins to begin with. What matter is it what I think now? Tell them. Don't tell them. I fail to see the consequences at this point." _

"Did you bring any more of that plastic wrap, Ringhurst?" Harry asked.

The goblin cocked his head sideways with a puzzled look. "Why do you ask?"

"Cause you're going to want to have a seat if I'm to tell you what I know, and we can all see you don't want to ruin that pretty suit."

Harry spent the next hour telling Ringhurst about the Horcruxes and Riddle's history. Periodically, he stopped to address Filmore's quips about the doom of wizardkind. Ringhurst surprisingly took the information without much alarm.

"So," Harry said, "does my gory little story score high enough on the valuable scale?"

"Quite," Ringhurst replied simply. "Knowledge is power, Mr. Potter, and the knowledge you have shared with me today is unquestionably powerful."

"And knowing what you know now, does that mean the goblins might do something about it?"

Ringhurst paused. "Neutrality is often the most profitable approach. It's one that we will maintain until it becomes more profitable to act otherwise." Ringhurst stood and retrieved the Semblac Infensor. "However, there are many different forms of action that may be taken without disturbing the appearance of impartiality."

"For fuck's sake, Ringhurst. Stop talking in circles. If you're going to help, great, if not get on with the show and tell and be on your way."

Ringhurst snarled, "One day wizard, your sharp tongue is going to get you into trouble beyond your abilities."

Dobby popped back into the room at Harry's and set a menacing snare on his face, Filmore also stood from his position across the room. Harry looked at both his companions and then back to the goblin. "Maybe, but not this day."

Ringhurst's snarl widened then vanished. "Enough of this," he snapped. "I believe these foul surroundings have saturated my temperament." The goblin crossed the space between Harry and handed him the stone.

After turning his back to the wizard Ringhurst began. "What you hold in your hand is a great symbol of our kind. The powers within only respond to goblin magic, and as you have tersely stated, can remove the magic from a wizard. I would tell you its history, but you would undoubtedly mock and belittle this information. What is of importance is that I believe this stone may hold the key to destroying the Horcruxes you so badly seek."

Ringhurst turned, expecting to see at least a look of interest from Harry. Instead he saw the wizard wasn't paying attention to him at all. Harry stood frozen. His eyes firmly fixed at the object in his hands, his mouth slightly agape, and though it seemed impossible his ashen gray skin was absent of what little color it still carried.

The bottom half of the Semblac Infensor, the part nearest to Harry's body, was saturated with the blood red hue.

Filmore looked down at the rock from Harry's side, and then looked at the catatonic stare on Harry's face. "Looks like one less souly bit the fine suited bankers will have to find then, eh?"

xxx

Maybe it was Harry's imagination, but it seemed like there was a sudden pause in all the "oh gods" and "help me's" when the Dark Lord was sent ass over tit. Whether it actually happened that way or it was Harry's mind playing tricks, the immediate reaction afterwards was decidedly not in the non-Death Eaters favor. Instantly the area lit up with spells volleying at the crowd. Cries of agony returned quickly when the first victims fell.

"HARRY!" Hermione screamed.

His attention was drawn to the girl in response. That was a mistake. Voldemort's spell hit him in the chest like a truck and sent him flying nearly twice as far as he'd sent the Dark Lord. Even worse, this spell actually hurt. That witch was really causing him more trouble than he needed — not to mention another set of ruined clothes.

He coughed up a mouth full of blood and looked at it with disgust. His white overcoat was shredded and charred black in a circle at the center of his chest where the spell had struck. The vest beneath held, but was also stained black by the blast of the curse.

Harry knew better than to get up where he fell, and so he Apparated onto his feet in front of the island. Two Death Eaters closed in from his left and right while Voldemort shot a spell at him from the length of the wedding aisle.

He ducked to his knees and crossed his arms over his chest, drawing out both wands from within his overcoat. Arms extended Harry yelled, "_Pangosum_!" The spell struck both Death Eaters simultaneously, spinning them in place as a spell sent from Voldemort's flew over his head. The Dark Lord's purple spell landed against one of Fleur's bridesmaids, dropping her dead where she stood.

"_Mind your position, Harry," _Slytherin reminded him needlessly.

Voldemort snarled and then Apparated to the middle of the crowd. A chorus of screams announced his arrival, saving Harry the trouble of having to find him. The people spread away from the Dark Lord in a perfect circle, and Harry realized exactly what he was trying to do.

"_It's a cute trick, how bout we show him one better"." _Harry smirked.

"_Remember, always three moves ahead," _Slytherin replied.

Harry took off in a sprint down the aisle towards Voldemort. A couple paces in, he turned and planted one foot onto a chair and leapt upwards as he Apparated to a spot in the air above Voldemort. There was a puff of black smoke as he disappeared and another as he flashed into the air twenty feet above the Dark Lord, his momentum carrying him higher still. Tucking his head and arm, he forced his body to rotate so that he was upside down and facing Voldemort. "_Reducto_!" he shouted while pointing both wands. Riddle was easily powerful enough to block such a rudimentary spell, of course that's only if the spell was aimed at him.

Harry's spell landed two paces in front of Voldemort, and even as the man tried to back away, the force of the explosion sent him tumbling against the retreating crowd. Harry reached the pinnacle of his flight when he Dissaparated in another puff of black smoke and allowed an extended amount of smoke to cover him and Voldemort when he reappeared to a stand over the man.

Voldemort was splayed on the dirt face forward and already recovering by the time Harry was there. He wouldn't get the opportunity to rise. Harry brought his knee down onto the back of his enemy's neck as hard as he could. The force drove Voldemort violently to the ground, his face turned and his neck compressing from the blow.

Harry leaned down to the monster beneath him. "Somebody's learned how to kick your Dark Lord Ass!" He pushed his open palm into the back of Voldemort's head, forcing it farther into the dirt beneath. "You take a punch like a little bitch, you know that?" Harry growled. Voldemort hadn't the capacity to form a response; instead he just released a hard blow of air that only succeeded in forcing a cloud of dirt up into his eyes. "Maybe I can't kill you yet, but I'm perfectly happy seeing you returned to fucking vapor in the interim."

xxx

"So, uh, Ringhurst…I think your fancy rock's broken," Harry stammered.

Ringhurst peered over Harry's shoulder, joining Filmore and Dobby, who both took to Harry's side after he collapsed onto the sofa behind him.

"This is quite…unexpected," the goblin stated.

"That's one way to say it. I'd go with completely fucked!" Harry said.

"Two souls, in the wizard's head then, yes?" Filmore asked. "A no vacancy sign might be of help."

"Oohh!" Dobby wimpered, "very bad…eemm…" The house elf began shaking and looking around. Setting his sight on the table where the grimoire laid Dobby got to his feet and began beating his head against the leg of the table. "Can't. Let. Evil. Wizard. Take. Great. Harry. Potter." The elf punctuated each announcement with the pound of his head.

It crossed Harry's mind that his situation might be improved if he joined the elf. Instead he turned to Ringhurst and spoke. "This is the part where you tell me that the goblins splurged for the de-Horcruxing option in their amazing little gem."

Ringhurst didn't respond.

"Right?" Harry prodded.

Ringhurst shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Mr. Potter. We believe the Semblac Infensor may be capable of drawing the Dark Lord's soul fragments from the objects they inhabit, but nothing is certain."

"What do you mean 'believe'?" Harry snarled.

"Wizard, it is not the practice of the Goblins of Gringotts to investigate solutions for the atrocities of your kind."

"Though a profit from them, perhaps," Filmore gruffed. The man stood and picked up the unconscious body of Dobby. "If listen to any more of this I have to, a sturdier fixture than one table leg will be necessary for self-flogging." He carried the elf into his workshop, leaving Harry and the Goblin behind.

"_You knew,"_ Harry said.

"_I had a notion, yes,"_ Slytherin replied unapologetically.

"_What the fuck is that supposed to mean? A 'notion'! I think it's going to rain this afternoon; maybe I'll try the treacle tonight with dinner; hey is that love potion I tasted on those cupcakes Ginny Weasley gave me? Those are fucking notions! Whether or not you're rooming in my brain with a Voldemorsal is something that should be crystal bloody clear about!"_

"Harry, I could not be certain of what I suspected," the founder calmly replied. "I am a disembodied voice in your head; it isn't like I can have a look around and see who my neighbors are. Yes, I felt something…unnatural within you. Considering what you've experienced, it wasn't beyond reason such a thing could have been the result of the process."

"You should have said **something**!"

"To what end, boy!" Slytherin barked. "Stop being so impulsive and use your very crowded head. Had I discussed with you my concern, what would have been your reaction? There is no question you would have undoubtedly obsessed over its implications — and rightfully so. But that obsession would have been at the expense of placing your attention where it was truly needed. No. Until I was certain, there was nothing to be gained."

Harry refocused on the room around him. Ringhurst was studying him curiously. "What the hell are you staring at?" he snapped.

Ringhurst maintained his composure. "What will you do now, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's rage had manifested fully. The room around him had gone frigid. Ringhurst obviously noticed, but he responded only by buttoning his suit blazer. "What will the Semblac Infensor do to me if you attempt to withdraw the Horcrux from my head?"

"It cannot be certain. The likely result will be the complete removal of your magic along with the Dark Lord's essence."

"What about you Sal? Now that we're not dealing in notions any more, you got a solution for this mess?"

"You know what I'm going to tell you, Harry," the founder replied sympathetically.

"You got nothing," Harry said.

"Unfortunately, not at the moment."

"Swell," Harry said in response to both.

xxx

**Closing Notes: **Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I've gotten some really, really flattering feedback and I'm very grateful for it. I finalized the working outline for this fic and it's a pretty sure thing that we've only got five chapters and an epilogue to go. There may be a delay in my posting of the last few chapters, but I'll work hard to avoid that. Special thanks go to Von, Big D on a Diet, what are you even saying, ochiteirutenshi, Steve's Place, and everyone else. I'll be a day or two later than usual with my review responses but they are coming, I promise.


	11. Till Death Do Us Part, Part II

**Authors Note: **This chapter was updated on 06.03.08 because I'm a complete tool and forgot to incorporate the very first segment of text into the story. There's dumb and then there's that...a true WTF moment for myself. If you've read this chapter already, the added text is easy enough to find as it's only three lines below! Sorry for the fuck up!

**Chapter 11: Till Death Do Us Part, part II**

Harry switched the grip on his wand and prepared to hammer the pointed metal end through the back of Voldemort's skull.

"Potter!" a man's voice cried from across the clearing of people.

Apparently the perpetrator's beckon was based purely on malevolent motivation, as Harry didn't have time to see whom it was that called. Instead his briefly upturned face met with an explosion of green light that launched him off of the Dark Lord. Everything went silent. No more wailing people, no sobs of those suffering from fear and loss, no shouts of anger, no spell incantations – Just pure, peaceful, silence.

He stared up at the clear, blue sky accented with puffy white clouds, a single crow flew past. A portrait of serenity, save for the occasional fleeing person who passed through his periphery.

_You know that's going to leave a mark._ Salazaar Slytherin's voice broke the calm, though the cacophony of the chaos surrounding Harry remained muted to him.

Harry grunted, _Five more minutes Sal_.

A white masked figure came into view and stood over Harry, staring down at the fallen wizard. The Death Eater mask moved over his face indicating the man was saying something, not that Harry could hear it.

_The nice Death Eater wants you to come out and play Harry, _Slytherin replied, _it wouldn't be polite to keep him waiting. _

_Well, manners first. _Harry answered. He shifted his sight back to thestral-vision, for the pretty colors of course, it also did the trick of returning his hearing as he'd hoped. "I'm afraid your witty banter is lost on me, I can't hear a word your saying."

The Death Eater actually flinched away when Harry spoke, he recovered quickly by kicking Harry over and again.

Harry apparated away from the spot as the Death Eater was mid-kick. The momentum of the ensuing errant kick sent the man flailing. He landed with a thud on his ass and Harry rewarding him for the effort by sending a cutting curse through the back of his head.

Harry took a moment to check his face and make sure everything was still in its proper place. He then summoned the wand he'd meant to put through the back of Riddle's head that had been thrown from his grip after the killing curse struck. Wands in hand, eyes, ears, mouth, and nose still in place, Harry turned to face the location where he'd left Voldemort taste-testing the dirt.

The Dark Lord had already risen from his grass growing watch-post and had witnessed The-Boy-Who-Lived continue to do so despite taking a money shot full of killing curse.

Harry snarled and tensed, ready to pounce once more. This opportunity had escaped him when he returned from the afterlife. He wasn't ready then even if he didn't know it. Now he had a good idea just what the "power he knows not" was, and the small fact that this wouldn't be a permanent death did little to diminish the unwavering yearn to feel his nemesis' body gasp its dying breath in his hands.

Voldemort's eyes connected with Harry's, both glaring equal parts hatred for the other. Harry dug his back foot into the dirt beneath and raised his wand. Voldemort responded just as quickly. In an instant Harry was a puff of black smoke, his moment was now and Voldemort was going to die or learn how to breathe with a metal wand through his neck.

It wasn't original, but the well source of creative slaughter was inaccessible at the moment.

Harry reappeared at a spot that should have been directly in front of the Dark Lord. Instead of jabbing just one wand when he rematerialized he jutted both forward with all his might. Neither struck their target.

The black cloud of smoke caused by Harry's apparition dissipated, but his thestral eyes already informed him that the Dark Lord was no longer there. Frantically he searched the grounds! The green grass was red with blood, spells flew from every direction, finely dressed wedding guests and white masked Death Eaters dueled to the death; but Voldemort was nowhere to be found.

_Did he leave!_ Harry screamed in his head.

_Looks like. _Slytherin replied calmly.

Harry dropped his Occlumency shields hoping the flood of pain that came in Riddle's presence would be there. Nothing.

"Did that wanker actually run away!" Harry screamed. "You're fucking kidding me!"

_xxx_

"Do you wish to continue, Mr. Potter?" Ringhurst asked.

"Huh?" Harry replied with as much incredulity as could fit into the single syllable.

"With the business at hand," the goblin clarified. "I come to you uninvited and during your rightful grieving period. I then cast upon you access to the knowledge that that which you seek to destroy is inhabited within you. By your rights, Mr. Potter, you could demand retribution against me."

"Grieving period? Retribution?" Harry repeated with confusion.

"The elders would hear your cause and rule on an appropriate penance," Ringhurst continued.

Harry shook his head. "Go on with all that! Do I really look like I haven't enough on my mind to be dealing with goblin elders as well?"

The corners of Ringhurst's mouth twitched slightly.

"One comment about my mind being full, and the elder won't ever get their chance," Harry snapped.

"Very well. Do you intend to destroy the remaining Horcrux before facing the one within you?"

"Unless you've got another option that doesn't include turning me into a squib," Harry answered.

"I do not."

"Then there you have it," Harry answered. "You brought the Semblac Infensor here for a reason other than showing me my head was a hotel?"

"It was my original plan to show how the Semblac Infensor could remove and destroy a Horcrux and then negotiate an agreement for the cost of obtaining this service from Gringotts. However, with what has transpired in the fallout of my hastiness, such an agreement would be considered a dishonor by the Goblins. My only recourse is to extend an offer to destroy whatever Horcruxes you obtain, as a gesture of good will."

This time the corners of Harry's mouth twitched. "The elders aren't going to be too happy with you then?"

"No, not at all," Ringhurst replied.

"_It's always a negotiation with this bastard isn't it?" _Harry asked.

"_Always,"_ Slytherin confirmed.

"_Then what we've got here is an opportunity, and another situation where Ringhurst is hoping I'm stupid enough to take his first offer." _

Harry looked at Ringhurst. "You only take the fall here if I take you up on this deal, correct?" Harry didn't wait for an answer. "After all, you'd have to explain to the other goblins why you were getting rid of the Horcrux for me free of charge." Harry eyed the goblin sternly, "What if all that wasn't necessary?"

"I'm listening, Mr. Potter."

"How about you let me worry about destroying whatever Horcruxes I find, but in the unlikely case I don't get rid of them all, the Goblins will use the Semblac Infensor to destroy them in my absence."

"Why would I accept this deal?"

"Lots of reasons, but mainly because if I handle my business your ass if off the hook. But if I don't, then all you've essentially got to do is the very same thing you're already offering."

"You wish the Semblac Infensor to be your back up plan, wizard," Ringhurst snarled.

"Something like that," Harry replied. "But the way I see it, you're the one in a questionable situation here and I like the idea of having a goblin who owes me a favor."

"Favor wizard. Goblins do not enter into agreements so fool heartedly."

"Well, I could take my case to the elders and see what sort of agreement they'd be interested in offering," Harry gambled at calling the goblin's bluff.

Ringhurst face held steady has he considered Harry's reply. "You play a dangerous game," He finally answered.

"I know. Call me crazy letting you off the hook. It must be all this grief overwhelming my rational mind," Harry said with dramatic flare.

Harry plucked a Death Eater from the battle as he ran past chasing a wedding guest. The wizard flailed against Harry's grip and tried to raise his wand in defense. The offending tool was smacked away effortlessly and the man's mask pulled off. The look of fear that met Harry's eyes didn't deter him in the least. "Your boss is a sodding coward! Did you know that?" he yelled manically into the young man's face.

The Death Eater couldn't respond on account of Harry firmly gripping him by the throat with both hands. His rage began the process of freezing the wizard's flesh beneath his fingers, and the curdled sounds of death offered no satisfaction.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed out once again.

Harry dropped the suddenly headless torso and ducked. Past occurrences rang true to memory, and if they were any indicator, an errant curse was likely on its way. "Fool me twice, bitch," Harry murmured in explanation to no one.

Nothing struck him this time. He located Hermione and found the reason for the beckon was not for his sake but hers. Ron and she were cornered by several Death Eaters and weren't fairing well. Both were bloody, and Ron was wavering in his attempts to keep up with the assault. Behind them was someone they were protecting, but Harry couldn't make out whom.

He ran to their aid sending random curses two at a time at Death Eaters along the way. His unnatural speed had him at his friend's side within seconds, but it wasn't soon enough to save Ron. A cutting curse struck him as he tried to dodge and fire at the same time. The spell opened the right side of his abdomen and sent him crumpling to the ground. Hermione's composure fell with her boyfriend; fortunately Harry had little need for her help in slaying the Death Eaters attacking them.

With the Death Eaters dispatched, Harry checked to make sure they were clear from follow up attacks. The battle was winding down, and the remaining Aurors were starting to gain control of the massacre. Of course, this advantage came after nearly all the wedding guests had been slaughtered and the Death Eaters began voluntarily retreating from the Burrow. Harry turned to check on Ron and saw that the person his friend had been standing over was the dead body of Molly Weasley.

"Harry you saved us!" Hermione's eyes were distant and manic as she rattled on, "I knew you'd come to the wedding. I told them!" She reached out with one of her bloody hands that had been applying pressure to Ron's wound. Apparently a panicked Hermione resorted to Muggle sensibilities when confronted with mortal peril. A healing spell would have served Ron's gushing wound better than the palms of the witch's hands.

She grasped Harry's arm tight enough there was no mistaking the despair behind the gesture. Wincing, she snapped her hand away just as quickly.

"Don't touch me," Harry snapped.

"You hurt me," Hermione gasped, holding the cold burned skin on her hand against her chest.

"You hurt yourself. Don't touch me," Harry said flatly

The witch continued staring blankly at Harry as he looked back to the dissipating battle around them. Content the Death Eaters were no longer a threat, Harry met Hermione's gaze. "You know Ron would be better off if you used a spell to stop the bleeding rather than your hands."

Hermione snapped from her gaze and fished her wand from the grass. Her hands shook as she held the wand, but the healing spell was administered and Ron's stomach stopped hemorrhaging.

"What the hell were you all thinking putting on a wedding like this? Might as well have hung a flashing sign that read, 'Death Eater target practice, beverages served'!" Harry snapped. "You two are lucky to be alive."

Hermione didn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on her blood-covered hands, and the longer she stared the harder her body shook. "They're all dead, the Weasleys, my…mum and dad…" She slowly turned her palms so they faced Harry and let out a guttural moan, "My parents are dead!"

Harry watched as his friend reduced to a sobbing state of shock. She crumbled into herself, holding her hands over her face and screaming guttural wails of pain. Instincts demanded Harry to offer solace, but no sensible consolation came to mind. Without words to help him, he struggled to reel in his temper so that he might hold the violently sobbing witch.

Hermione latched onto him as soon as she felt the contact. "Oh god, Harry, I want to die. It hurts so bad…too much…I can't bear it!" Her broken cries fell against Harry's ear and he had to force himself not to pull away.

He guided the girl's head away from his own so she could see his ashen face. Still unsure of what to say, he just stared momentarily, waiting for inspiration to strike. A distinct sensation of being struck arrived, though he saw it as a flash of red reflected in the whites of Hermione's eyes and the only inspiration involved was a forced state of unconsciousness.

"Forgetting the wretched notion of being in your debt, what is to stop you from fabricating your own death so that the goblins must assume the responsibilities of destroying the Horcruxes, wizard?" Ringhurst asked.

"Aside from that being a near impossibility, I would offer an oath on my magic to the contrary," Harry responded.

"I do believe a wizard such as you could find the means for faking one's own death."

"You overestimate me, Ringhurst." His response was laced with sarcasm and the goblin's responding sneer clearly illustrated his lack of appreciation for the remark. "It is an interesting counter proposal, Harry. However you underestimate goblin pride. My brothers would see it undignified to serve as back up plan for one wizard's vendetta against another."

"Vendetta," Harry scoffed. "If I lose and little, itty, bitty, pieces of Voldemort's soul are left floating the world round then everyone, including the goblins, is screwed. I'd say being back up to the only plan that's going to avoid a nationwide anal flogging goes just a tad beyond vendettas."

"The Goblins have suffered and survived regime change among your kind before."

Harry looked at the Semblac Infensor still in his hands, and then back to the riled up goblin across from him. He shook his head with disgust and tossed the rock carelessly back to Ringhurst. "You know what Ringhurst, do what goblins do best. Figure out what's more profitable. And when the time comes you and your pals can do whatever you like." Harry claimed the Grimoire from the table. "By that point, it won't make a lick of difference to me anyways. Just don't forget that in the meantime, you owe me!"

He left the goblin standing alone in the basement living area.

"Wake up, Potter. There'll be no faking this time round."

Harry opened one eye, then the other; both took in the sight of Mad-Eye Moody filling their periphery. He tried to jerk away, but found the ropes that bound him to the chair he was in offered no slack for retreat.

"Oh aye, you'll not be going anywhere anytime soon, lad," Moody snarled, still in Harry's face. "The way I figure, with all the commotion about, we've got a good couple hours before the ministry's looking your way." Mad Eye pulled back and stomped his fake leg twice onto the wooden floor of Mr. Weasley's workshop outside the Burrow. It caused various Muggle items on the shelves and walls to rattle in their place. "Yes, plenty of time for questioning a murdering, traitor such as you."

Harry fought to clear the fog from his mind as he looked around the workshop. Hermione was there, still in the torn and blood stained white dress she wore to the wedding. She didn't look at him, but he didn't need to see her eyes to tell she was not long removed from crying. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the only other Auror in the room. When Harry met his eyes, the large man showed only hate in return. Ron was also there, bandaged and huddled in the corner behind Hermione. At first Harry thought he wasn't conscious, but Ron turned his head up from the floor to look at Harry. The gaze behind Ron's return stare was utterly vacant. He just stared at Harry with his mouth held open and his bloodshot eyes unblinking.

Moody pointed his wand at Harry's forehead and slowly pulled it away. The magic behind the movement gripped the young wizard's head, forcing him to turn his face upward towards the grizzled ex-Auror. "You're going to tell me who you've been working with, Potter. You're going to tell me why you've committed treason against the Ministry. And, you're going to tell me where you've been hiding."

Harry sneered with vicious intent at Moody but said nothing. He used every bit of that rage and focused it on freezing the ropes and chair that bound him. The room instantly grew significantly colder, as evident by the sudden show of Moody's breath in the air, but the ropes and chair remained unaffected.

"Done my homework since our last encounter," Moody supplied. "It seems conjuring up frost-proof restraints does the trick nicely. I put up some anti-apparition wards 'round the building as well. So no need to waste your time trying that puff 'o' smoke trick neither," the Auror gruffed with a self-satisfied laugh.

It didn't stop Harry from trying to Apparate anyway. He managed a small cloud of black smoke, but he failed to break through the ward. Finally he tried transforming into his animagus form. At first it seemed he'd be successful, but when his transfiguring appendages forced themselves against their bonds, the ropes held. It sent a pain through his body he'd never experienced before and quickly forced him to desperately fight his way back to human form.

Shacklebolt joined Moody this time in their condescending laughter. Fully human again Harry glared at each with hate. "You're not paying attention, are you lad? I told you from the get you'll not be going anywhere anytime soon," said Mad Eye with a satisfied grin.

The smile fell from Moody's face instantly. "Now, let's begin. Who's been helping you?"

Harry stared at Moody blankly. After a moment's silence, Mad Eye struck Harry across the face with the back of his hand. Harry's head swung away from the force of the blow, but his anger drove him to turn back towards the Auror defiantely. "It doesn't get easier from here, Potter."

Harry continued staring, undeterred.

"Where have you been hiding?" Moody asked with very little conviction.

Harry remained silent.

A second backhand rewarded his incompliance. "Why did you commit treason?" Moody asked, the same detached calm in his voice.

Harry spat the blood now pooling in his mouth into the face of Mad Eye Moody.

The Auror snarled and punched Harry square in the mouth, knocking the wizard and the chair he was bound to backwards. Stepping around the fallen chair, Moody looked down from a position over Harry's face and said, "Straight to business then, eh Potter?"

Shacklebolt waved his wand, righting Harry and the chair instantly.

"Could use Veritaserum, Shacklebolt's got some on him you know," Moody said, "But I think a strong-minded young wizard like you will need some loosening up before the potion'll work effectively." He punched Harry again, but this time the chair didn't move at all. It made the force of the blow all the more painful to endure. "Three simple questions Potter. Answer 'em and your friends here won't have to watch me give a lesson in the 'old ways'."

As Harry's head lulled towards his chest, he turned his eyes up and provided Moody his most sadistic smile.

"It's funny is it?" Moody asked just before he punched Harry twice in the stomach and once more across the chin.

"Ha ha ha!" Harry laughed out loud as soon as his wind returned.

Moody punched him once more in the stomach, which only caused a brief pause in Harry's increasingly manic laughter.

"_Crucio!"_ Moody barked. The curse hit with as much physical force as any one of the previously delivered blows. The pain that ran through Harry as Mad Eye held the curse was agonizing, but it was only held for a moment.

Harry stopped laughing and Moody stomped his fake leg twice more on the wooden floor in approval. "Not so funny anymore!"

Harry turned to his Thestral sight, if only so his eyes were completely black as he stared at Moody. His voice was patently calm when he spoke. "You touch me again I'll rip off your good leg and beat _him_ to death with it." Harry turned his head slowly and stared at Shacklebolt so as to clarify exactly who was the "him" implied.

The comment registered shock from both Aurors, and even Ron was shaken from his forlorn state by the ferocity of Harry's words.

"He won't talk Alastor," Shacklebolt said.

"Nay, eventually they all talk," Moody replied without turning his eyes away from Harry. "Give me his wands." Shacklebolt complied without hesitation.

Harry eyed his newly created wands as Moody turned them over in his hands. "Interesting design Potter, though I doubt any effective amount of magic could pass through this material."

"Give 'em here. I'll show you," Harry replied.

Moody tapped the pointed end of the wand to the side of his temple, mocking consideration for Harry's request. "Still, with your newfound pension for swordplay and fisticuffs, I imagine you haven't much need for precision magic work." He pressed his fingertip against the pointed end of one of the wands. "A little easier to shove through a wizard's throat this way, then?"

Harry quickly tried summoning the wands, but the old Auror was too quick and grasped hold of them before they escaped his hands. "You do want these don't you? Well let's not have it said I never gave you anything, Potter." Moody lunged at Harry and shoved one of the wands point first through his shoulder. Harry moaned in pain for the first time as Mad Eye wrenched the wand into the torn flesh.

"Stop it now!" Hermione screamed and ran towards Harry's side. Shacklebolt pointed his wand at the witch, and instantly she was stopped in place. The bald Auror eyed Ron, daring him to try as well, but Ron stayed put.

"You hurt her and you better kill me, or I'll not stop until you're dead," Ron snarled.

"You're no Potter, Weasley," Shacklebolt responded. "Just hide in the corner and behave like a good boy. Hermione will be perfectly fine."

"Your friends still care about you, Potter," Moody said. "Can't figure why, you've caused nothing but pain for them. You know Ron here lost his entire family today, Hermione as well. I have to believe none of this would have happened if you'd not been around."

"Don't listen to him, Harry!" Hermione said. Mad Eye hit her with a silencing spell in response.

Moody leaned down so he could whisper into Harry's ear. "Listen well, Harry. I will torture you until I truly believe you have it in you not to talk. Then, I'm going to torture Weasley until he's dead, and if you still have nothing to say for it I'm going to do the same to the young lady over there."

Harry's mind filled with rage. But with the Auror at his side he was no longer obstructing the view of the front door to the building. Because of this he was able to see with his Thestral eyes a wave of color he only ever saw when Dobby was around.

"_Have I made it a point lately to remind you just how many times that house elf has saved your arse?" _Slytherin said.

Ringhurst stormed from the basement and up the ladder out to the rubble of a house exposed to the night's warm thick air. Harry was there, but the Grimoire was no longer in his possession. "A man with no allies, no friends, and powerful enemies is doomed to failure even if he vanquishes those foes," Ringhurst said.

Harry didn't turn to face him. "Life has failed me; there's no need to be bothered with the headaches that come with friends and allies."

"You are a mere child, a wizardling. You would see yourself represented as the forsaken, bastard child of life herself. One who has suffered endlessly at the cruel machinations of fate and destiny." Ringhurst spat on the ground before him. "Phah! You haven't the years on this earth to comprehend suffering!"

Harry faced the seething goblin. The sight was nearly comical, and Harry was happy to oblige a patronizing smile in the face of the goblin's tantrum. "The worth of my lot in life doesn't require validation from you, goblin. Save your estimations for determining exchange rates."

Ringhurst let loose what could only be called a war cry and pulled the Semblac Infensor from his suit pocket. With the stone held between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand, he thrust it above his head. "A mere couple words wizard, and I could show you true suffering." His eyes were wide with fury, and every pointy tooth that could show past his lips was revealed in his snarl.

Harry calmly cocked his head to the side. "That's a very nasty thing to say, Ringhurst. Does this mean we can't do business anymore?"

"Someone must show you your place! A word more and I will be that individual!"

The amused look fell deftly from Harry's face. He shook his head ever so slightly and then stuck his own right thumb into the air, wiggling it a couple times.

There was barely time to catch Ringhurst's reaction to Harry's gesture before a loud crack shattered the evening air. The goblin's gurgled moan of pain chased the echo of the gun's explosion.

Harry watched as an age-old science experiment unfolded before him. Drop a magic sapping gemstone and a dismembered goblin thumb from the same height, which hits the ground first?

In this instance it was the goblin himself that beat both objects to the ground, and the only relevant conclusion to be drawn was that a goblin's brain doesn't operate with the same pain delay response as Harry's.

Harry summoned the Semblac Infensor to him. Despite his own wishes to ignore it, he watched the side of the stone nearest his head again color blood red. He walked over to the fallen goblin and kneeled down next to him. "I hope that wasn't your writing hand, Ringhurst. How else are you going to show me my place if you can't ledger those mounds of paperwork to bury me under?"

Grasping his bleeding hand with the other, Ringhurst gnashed out, "Finish what we have started here, wizard! But know your continued mockery only proves me right in death. You have no honor."

Harry stood and stared down at Ringhurst with a hateful glare. A moment of righteous anger filled him once more and the simplicity of what it would be to end this creature seemed so clear to him. Yet he let the Semblac Infensor fall from his fingertips and onto the ground next to Ringhurst's head. "I'll kill Voldemort, and every last one of his Death Eaters, and the occasional Dementor…and a Ministry person or two, perhaps …but I don't kill those who don't already have it coming. Go back to your bank Goblin," he said and began walking back towards the basement steps.

Ringhurst swiped the stone from the ground in his uninjured hand and rose quickly from his doubled over position. When he spun around to finish what Harry had not, he found himself staring down the business end of the same rifle that had claimed his thumb. "Wizards, goblins, house elves…kill them all the same will I," Filmore said from the other end of the gun.

"Apparently that magical eye of yours can see through everything but your own stupidity, Auror Moody," Harry shouted, using the guise of pain for his unnecessarily loud announcement.

The magical eye in question spun a full revolution in Moody's head. Thankfully the wave of Dobby color disappeared before the eye got into a position to see the house elf outside. "Stupidity you say, Potter? And what stroke of genius was it that has you strapped to that chair and me standing here free?"

"You mean that brilliant piece of wand work you used when you cursed me in the back? You're spot on Moody, a regular criminal-apprehending mastermind. 'Course it doesn't take a magical eye to see you're a coward as well."

"That bastard Snape was right. You really are an arrogant little whelp," Moody said.

"I keep hearing that, but no one's convinced me why it's such a bad thing." Harry kept his words clipped and emotionless.

"Nay? But murdering and turning against your country, those are traits to be proud of?"

Harry had to force himself not to role his blacked out eyes in his head. Talking to his captors was probably worse than any torture they could inflict. But it's all he could do to buy time for Dobby to make his move.

"_Everything comes with a price, right?" _

"Since when did killing Death Eaters become murder?" Harry said stoically.

"Man's got a right to a trial. Not to be killed indiscriminately. Vigilantism is no better than terrorism."

"Oh, I'm quite discriminate. If it has a white mask, black hood, and a wand, I kill it."

"So then you see yourself judge, jury, and executioner?"

"Thought we already established I'm arrogant," Harry said.

"And a murderer by admission, it seems," Shacklebolt added.

Harry turned his head so he could look at the large bald man. "Can't murder what's already dead," he said calmly.

Shacklebolt didn't respond quite so calmly, "I've got a bloody wedding massacre outside the door proving there's more than a few not dead Death Eaters, Harry!"

"They all died the night they captured me and made the mistake of letting me live through it," Harry snapped back. Turning forward in his seat again and regaining his composure he added, "Some just die slower than others."

It was then he saw the yellow color stream that represented Dobby wafting down from above. He looked up casually, trying to feign boredom with the conversation, and saw a disillusioned blur wrapped in the same yellow aura skulking across the wood support beams.

"_Dobby's hit his head one too many times," _Harry said to Slytherin and lowered his head in what he hoped was a quick but inconspicuous fashion. "_If Moody so much as rolls his magical eye, that elf's toast!"_

"_Than I guess you better not say anything that would cause him to do so," _Slytherin responded.

"_It's that simple then?"_ Harry shot back sarcastically.

"What's the matter Mad Eye? I'm supposed to waddle through life on one good leg, donating chunks of me a Death Eaters at a time, all in the name of justice? And for what? In the end half of them'll get off free and find a position in the Ministry signing my paycheck! All the while I get to hobble about looking like fruits of my parents never fully ripened." Harry barked a laugh. "I mean, have you seen yourself? You look more like the worm than the apple!"

That got the disfigured Auror's attention quite well. Harry watched the man clunk hurriedly towards him, obviously to deliver another blow. "No. You're right, Moody." Harry yelled out before the man could reach him. Moody paused. "I can see how everything you've sacrificed has made a difference. What with Dumbledore dead, Scrimegour arresting innocent people, and Voldemort laying waste to weddings – excellent work, sir!"

That cost Harry a couple broken ribs and what sounded like a broken nose to match. The upside, Moody's magical eye is maddeningly fixed on the insolent whelp of a wizard before him. The downside; in a couple seconds that mad eye is going witness just how quickly said whelp heals.

Fortunately nothing stirs a Dobby quite like seeing someone hurt the Great and Horcruxed Harry Potter! The elf dropped from the rafter and landed behind Harry's chair. Even before the sound made from Dobby's feet hitting the floor could alert the Aurors, the elf snapped his fingers. All at once Dobby dropped his disillusion, Harry's bindings disappeared, and the Aurors jumped to action.

Harry knew that the elf's overprotective nature would have him gunning for Mad Eye. Sure enough Dobby was crouching so he could look through the chair legs at the target of his next finger snap. Conversely, Harry spun out of the chair and away from the crossfire that was about to ensue. He pulled the wand still stuck in his shoulder free and took aim at Shacklebolt.

Harry and Shacklebolt both paused as their eyes met, but the clash of Dobby and Moody magic that erupted behind Harry didn't wait for whatever was to come from that moment. Instead Harry was sent diving to the floor as the chair exploded.

There wasn't time to turn and see what happened. An unmistakable yell came from Mad Eye, and when the dust cleared the Auror was gone, along with the front door of the workshop and half of the frame around it. Harry spun in place on the floor, pointing his wand once more at the remaining Auror. Shacklebolt stood unmoving and still in the same place. His wand was no longer pointing at Harry, mainly because there was a Dobby wrapped around his head, snarling and holding pointer finger to thumb in front of his face.

Death by finger snap, somehow it didn't seem like something covered in Auror training.

"I'd put your wand down, Kingsley." ," Harry said. "I've seen that look before, and I don't think he intends on getting a butterbeer with his next snap."

Kingsley dropped his wand on the floor in front of him. Dobby squinted his eyes and pointed his ears back even farther. "The shiny headed Auror is dropping all of them." ," Dobby sneered. The man complied, and Harry watched as a large, bald, wizard bent over, twisted, and turned to remove each of his hidden back up wands; all while a loin cloth wearing house elf remained tightly attached to his neck and head.

This moment alone was worth each punch, slap, and droning conversation point he had been made to suffer.

Harry banished the wands to the back of the workshop and then hit Shacklebolt with a stunner that would have silenced Moody's doubt in his wand's abilities.

"Dobby we should go."," Harry ordered. The house elf's ears perked, and his eyes returned to their usual tennis ball size. He looked over to Hermione and Ron and waved to both of them with a beaming smile.

"Harry wait!" Hermione said.

He complied. "I don't have anything to say to make it right Hermione. That I'm sorry doesn't mean a thing. Not after what you've lost today, after what you've both lost." Harry looked at Ron who for once was looking back at him like he saw a friend. It gave Harry resolve, "But for what it's worth, I meant it when I said each of them is already dead. After what they've done here today, a whole lot quicker too."

"Let us go with you." ," Hermione responded.

Harry hadn't expected that. "Come with me?" he repeated disbelievingly.

"We've got nowhere else. And we could be together again, the three of us. You said you were going after them, and…we could help you." It all babbled together until the end, which was a clear plea from Hermione.

Harry took a deep breath, "You don't want to be where I'm going, Hermione." Harry saw further resolve appear in Ron's eye as he said that, . "Neither of you. What you saw today, and at Hogsmeade. That's my life now, and then some."

"I'm not afraid to fight." ," Ron said.

Harry bit back the urge to laugh. "It's not about…fear, Ron. I'm used to this, I have to be."

"And what, we're not?" Ron barked. "My whole familiesdeadfamily is dead! Hermione's family is dead! What makes you so special that you're supposed to fight and we're not?"

"It's the reason I was sent back!" Harry yelled in response.

"Sent back from where, Harry?" Hermione said calmly.

He realized his error even before Hermione could ask the question. It forced a pause that he didn't have time for. There was a mass of dead people outside that workshop and a newly added Auror body to it. "It doesn't matter, now." ," Hesaid he said in a clipped tone.

Ron threw his hands up in disgust, . "I was right from the get, Hermione. This isn't our friend."

"Shut up, Ron." ," Hermione yelled.

Harry wasn't going to let the opportunity slip, . "No, Hermione. Ron's right. I am different now, which is why you two should go your own way."

"That's bullocks Harry Potter, and you know it!" Hermione snapped at Harry as he turned to leave. "You're still the one destined to beat Voldemort, and we're still the ones who are supposed to help you. That hasn't changed and you know it."

Harry watched the witch turn on the waterworks once more and was almost fooled into believing that theshe was right like she had been so many times in their youth. But you take a killing curse point blank to the face, and it has a way of providing new perspective. "You're wrong, Hermione. This time you don't know all the answers. I've been tortured, had my soul sucked out of my body, and spat back on this earth. I've got one thing left to do in this miserable world and that's kill Voldemort. I don't need you and Ron getting in the way."

Ron took Hermione in his arms and shot Harry another hate hate-filled glare. Things were the way they're supposed to be, Harry thought. With a look to Dobby he walked through the hole in the front of the workshop created by Moody's body.

Outside on the grass there was a group of Auror's gathered around the fallen wizard. As soon as they saw Harry, each of them trained their his wands at him. Harry stopped a short distance away. Cclose enough to see that Moody's body was so twisted and mangled there was no questioning if he was dead.

Harry looked down to Dobby with utter disbelief, . "You fucking killed him!" Hhe said.

Dobby cringed, true to self-punishing house elf form, . "Nasty wizard was hurting Harry Potter." ," He he replied quickly and then recovered slightly from his cower. "Harry Potter sir is still being able to rip off nasty wizard's good leg and beat bald wizard with it – if he so wishes. Dobby is making absolute sure of this before making a new doorway with the nasty wizard."

It had been three weeks since Harry had walked out on Ron and Hermione. The common scene of Hermione cries, Ron holds her and stares on angrily played itself out, but this time the couple had nothing to fall back onto. Their families' families were dead, Hogwarts was still recovering from the loss of its headmaster, and the government was losing every facet of a battle with Voldemort; iI, It didn't leave room for accommodating two recently of age and bereaved Gryffindors.

You learn quickly how strong your relationship is when it's forced to stand completely on its own. That it only took Hermione and Ron a couple days in this fashion to resolutely decide to locate Harry relayed a clear message, even if it would never be actually be said.

Hermione's only relief from her pain was to focus on finding Harry. She drug Ron about as they retraced every footstep they knew their friend had taken. In the end, all of her sleuth-work amounted to squat. It wasn't until then that one of the few synapses still firing in Ron's head mouthed the idea, "Maybe he went back to his parents' place." Hermione was such a mental wreck by this time that the idea Ron might be right squashed any of her formerly abundant pride in discovering the answer first.

They watched in the distance as Harry stood in front of the rubble of his parents' house arguing with some goblin. They saw the goblin raise some sort of stone at Harry. They saw Harry give the goblin a thumb up in response. And they both flinched at the crack of the bullet that claimed the goblins thumb immediately afterward.

Finally, they watched the now unopposable-thumbed Goblin skulk away and the muggle Muggle who'd rifled off said thumb retreat back beneath the rubble of the house.

"What in the bloody hell has Harry got himself into?" Ron said.

"I'm sure there is some sort of explanation." ," Hermione replied.

"Explanation, are you gone? There's no explanation for living with a muggle Muggle who shoots off goblin thumbs, on the ruins of the house where your parents died no less. We've made a mistake Hermione. When Harry said, 'and then some,', he truly meant it."

"We've come too far now to just walk away, Ron!" Hermione argued. "They've all gone. Let's go!"

Ron would argue if this weren't Hermione, the issue didn't involve Harry, and the witch wasn't wearing that look on her face that meant all breaths offered to the contrary would instantly be defined as wasted. Instead he followed silently behind her as they trekked towards the ruined house.

Filmore was settling into his workshop, feeling quite pleased with the course of the evening and contemplating the notion that it really wasn't so bad having a wizard and his house rat around. Hell, despite the rocky introduction, the house rat had plain grown on him. He liked the way it talked.

Dobby was still unconscious from his integrity test gone wrong with the table leg. Everybody knows they just don't make tables like they used to. The house elf just didn't take into consideration this was one of those tables made in the time of 'used to'.

Harry sat in the living area, planted on the couch mentally preparing himself for an argument with the voice in his head. Of course this was like treating himself to dinner and a movie before jerking off. Still, finding out yet another generation of Slytherin lineage resided in his head was disturbing enough he felt justified in taking the extra, even if wholly unnecessary, preparation.

It was the use of an unsuccessful _Alohomora_ spell on the door hatch leading to the basement the disturbed both Harry and Filmore from their respective places. They met at the base of the stares and shared a look that both described their mutual frustration with the continued disturbances and their complete agreement the only just response was a quick, but painful death for the offending party. Fortunately for Ron and Hermione muggles Muggles can't apparateApparate.

Harry popped into place perched upon the empty doorway frame at the front of the house with his wand trained towards the basement hatchway. He immediately recognized the bushy haired witch accompanied by a tall, lanky, red headed wizard. As to be expected they were arguing with each other in hushed tones.

Some things truly never did change.

"You'd be better off trying to beat that lock in with a hammer. About as discrete as well." ," Harry said.

Alarmed, Ron spun instantly and pointed his wand in the direction of the voice. Hermione on the other hand realized immediately the situation and silently cursed herself for her stupidity. She stood and turned slowly to face Harry.

"Bloody hell, Harry. You nearly scared the life out of me." ," Ron said.

In that same instant the basement door flew open. Sword in hand, Filmore launched himself out of the entry way and high enough into the air so that he landed knees first onto the small of Ron's back. The wizard was sent toppling face first onto the rubble of the house with an irritated, wizard slaying, muggle Muggle riding him all the way down.

Hermione snapped around and turned her wand on Filmore, but Harry disarmed her with a silent flick of his wand.

"Don't!" Harry yelled before Filmore could drive his sword through the back of Ron's head.

The muggle Muggle complied, but held a fervent intolerant stare down at his prey. "A shared look, was it not?" He growled.

"Yes, but I know these two." ," Harry replied.

"As a wizard, likely is this to be. As a wizard slayer, more likely is it kill them I will." ," Filmore replied.

"Harry, do something!" Hermione pleaded.

"Shut up!" hesnapped. "Just let him goTrynzington. You already got to shoot the thumb off a goblin tonight."

"True, though knocked first did the goblin." ," Filmore said as he dismounted Ron and began to head back down the stairs. "For this trespass, a hand at least should be claimed." He called as a final retort.

Ron stood in a huff, "What the hell are you playing at, Potter?"

"You shut up, too!" Harry jumped down from the doorframe and looked at Hermione, . "Why are you here?"

"You know why we're here." ," Hermione answered.

"And I told you not to follow me. Did you think showing up unwelcome would somehow change that?"

"We've got nowhere else to go, Harry. Our families are dead; all that we have left is each other. Why can't you just let us help you?"

"Because I don't need your help."

Hermione stepped closer to Harry, . "Fine," she said in a defeated tone, "then why can't you find it in yourself to help us?"

Harry looked away. This witch was averaging one question out of every three that managed to catch him off guard. It was really annoying. "Stay with me, and you'll only end up dead." ," He he answered with a level of dejection matching Hermione's.

"We're dead without you." ," Ron said.

Harry's eyes turned to Ron's at the unexpected statement. "There's nothing I can say that will make you leave, is there?"

Ron half smirked, though no true mirth was in his expression. "She's made up her mind, Harry. You know I'm not smart enough to convince her to change it."

"We are going to follow you to the very end." ," Hermione said resolutely.

"_Till death do you part_," Slytherin said.


	12. Why

**Author's Notes:** I'll start with my thanks. And as usual they go first to Lisa725 for her beta help. Secondly thanks to everyone who left the awesome feedback for the last chapter. I'll finish with my apologies. Obviously I've fallen (well) behind on my update schedule with this chapter and I regret that. Additionally I'm sorry for not yet replying to everyone who left reviews. I'd give you the litany list of excuses I've got (which include lightning striking my house, my laptop getting fried, and other karmic like smitings) but they would be just that – excuses. So I'll skip them and leave the notice that I don't think the next chapter will be out in a week (For which I'm again – sorry). Hope you like the chapter, hopefully enough so that you'll leave a review.

**Chapter 12 - Why**

_So, is this the part where I go all "woe is me" about the head full of fucking Slytherins? Nah. For the however many-eth time, Salazar is right. A couple months ago, I would have gone screwt shit knowing a Horcrux infested my skull. Not so much anymore._

_Maybe it's leftover giddy from planting Voldemort's face like an acorn in front of the Burrow. Or maybe I'm truly starting to buy into my own bullshit. You know, the whole life sucks get a helmet mantra. You can sprinkle that with a dash of don't care about post-Voldemort worldly wellness, and it leaves you with an unpouty Potter. But don't you get your knickers in a twist. This recent Tao of Harry doesn't mean I'm not the same raging riot of revenge you've come to love. _

_Whatever the case, I do know this: Everything I've been through in this life — everything I've suffered and accomplished — I've done with a bit of Voldemort in my head. What that means to the great cosmic equation of things is not my concern. I've got more present headaches to deal with in the form of two turncoat friends trying to adjust to their post-massacre makeover. _

_Is it just me, or does there seem to be some sort of karmic black hole sucking the maniacal, morose, and mordant to this basement we call home?_

_xxx_

The Dark Lord sneers beneath the shadow of his cloak, the hood hiding his beaten and bloody face. The undeniable realization that he has just fled from the Weasley Wedding massacre burns like acid at his pride. It was _his_ massacre! _His_ place to watch the powerless scatter with fear! Yet here he stands shakily in his dungeon – beaten – and in front of a throne for which he no longer feels worthy. His hands still shake from the adrenaline and fear coursing through him.

He wants to destroy something! His raging emotions demand it. He sees her standing across from him – watching – and lowers the hood of his cloak slowly. A practiced look of utter contempt greets the witch before him. His hands stop shaking.

"Are you wounded, my lord?" Bellatrix asks.

She would look upon him, see his blood stained skin and the filthy earth caked into it. She would wonder if his indomitable standing was no longer so. Her voice betrays her, and he senses the embattled fear. Fear that he is truly injured. Fear that too great a show of concern will only earn his wrath.

"I will be fine, Bella," Voldemort replies curtly. His voice betrays nothing.

There would be questions about the boy's capabilities and doubts spawned in the minds of wizards concerned only with power, the type that were his followers. Some ambitious soul might even find in this moment an opportunity.

"The boy has found some new source of power, one unknown to us," Bellatrix remarks, testing the boundaries of their conversation.

Perhaps even someone as completely loyal as his Bella. Every one of them was Slytherin to the core after all.

"Do not presume so much, Bellatrix," Voldemort warns. "There is little in this world unknown to me."

"Of course, my lord, your forgiveness." She pauses. "Will Potter become the focus of your wrath?"

And so the questions were already here, perhaps quicker than expected; but in every situation there lies an opportunity. He realized this as a boy, and so long as things like rules and those who enforce them couldn't intercede, each opportunity was his to exploit.

His face blank, his tone even and unrevealing, Voldemort replies, "I would say he has made himself a more prominent feature in our immediate plans, wouldn't you agree, Bella?"

Her dark, drawn face brightens as best it can. She has already lost. "He will suffer eternally for this! We will see to it for you, my lord!" There's a manic fervor to her voice.

"But what of his apparent power — this _power_ we know not?" Voldemort asks the query as if it were an exam question.

Her inspired look wanes as she struggles for some small hint on his face or in his tone. There is, of course, nothing to be found. "His power is notable, but what little success he managed was only gained through an element of surprise." She chooses her words carefully.

"Perhaps," Voldemort replies, allowing the frustration of his non-committal to burn in the witch. "Over and again this boy has managed to find an unacceptable outcome from each of our encounters, yet only this once has he had the element of surprise in his corner."

He looks at her, his red eyes piercing and only beginning to reveal the boiling hatred welling up within him.

"Frustrating, wouldn't you say, Bella?" And still his steady voice continues to betray no emotion.

"He is an unacceptable nuisance, but not one beyond our means for dealing with."

He closes his eyes and acknowledges her with a disparaging smile. Pain courses throughout his body; this vessel now so much frailer in its reincarnate form. Whatever powers they are that act on this world from beyond, they are not without a sense of balance. His power unequaled, but his form weak; thus an adversary arises who is forged with physical ability. His smile fades to a harsh sneer, and his eyes again find the witch across from him.

"We are not so unlike, he and I," Voldemort comments.

The look of shock on her eyes is the first truly unreadable emotion shown. "M-my Lord?" Bellatrix questions.

"Certainly there was a time in my youth when I would have been considered a mere nuisance. Perhaps that is why this young wizard's life persists despite our efforts."

She considers his words, challenging the unthinkable absurdity of the comparison made. She struggles to invalidate it, searching for a way to discredit that which has been given credit by the only person on this earth capable of doing so. "He is not to be underestimated, this is for certain. But, my lord, he is nothing in the face of your greatness."

He smiles condescendingly once again. A time existed when servitude, blind faith, and groveling were his deepest desire. Now when it is so readily his, the service just felt pathetic. "But we are, my Bella, more alike than you would wish to know?"

"Potter may have a propensity for survival, my lord, something which you also possess. But I am unable to find any other similarities."

"Yet that does not mean they are not there," he replies. She opens her mouth, but before the words can form, his own intercede, "Tell me, Bella, why are you a Death Eater?"

She does not respond immediately, and the still air between them begins to press upon her mind. "My Lord?" she settles weakly.

He stops smiling. "It is a simple question, Bellatrix. Why…are you a Death Eater?"

She knows he does not take interest in the motivations of his Death Eaters. She knows not even she is special enough to him for this question to be so simple. She knows there is no favorable outcome to be had for her.

"I live to serve, my lord." The answer is inadequate, and her tone intentionally reflects an admission of this.

"_To serve_," he hisses, "yet you would waste my time with such uninspired drivel!" His tone is sharp and intentionally reflects a severe threat.

"Power, my lord," she replies quickly.

The ferocity of his glare fades. "Of course it is, my Bella. Still, this is not a true reason. Power is a means to an end. What is power without the powerless to lord over? What use is power without a purpose for its dispensing?"

"And our purpose is just, my lord," she states with confidence. The hateful glare that responds clearly relays an error to her testament. She cringes from its blatant fury.

"Justice is a myth," Voldemort snaps. "For the truly powerful, there is no justice, no virtue, no evil, no truth – these are mere constructs, devoid of any meaning. My morality is the might of a hurricane, and like a force of nature my resolve is supreme. There are but two things in this world: that which is mine and that which I shall destroy!" His magic flares and his superficial wounds fade away. Bellatrix's eyes widen briefly as she takes in the powerful display.

He continues, his fervor building, "You, more than any other, seek to be my devotee in search of the unconstrained freedom true power provides, Bellatrix. Like me, you desire the ability to do whatever is your will, knowing none can prevent it – above judgment, above retribution, above moral dilemma."

The trap is set; neither is pretending to be ignorant to this fact. He lays out the words that seal her fate. "Wouldn't you agree, my Bella?"

Never one to cower, she returns his stare resolutely. Perhaps this is why he always favored her most. "True power is indeed true freedom. None know this better than I who suffered imprisonment awaiting the one power capable of returning my freedom to me."

It's a good response he has to admit. "Only because you did not possess the power to achieve freedom on your own."

"Because freedom was empty without your power to complete the cause," Bellatrix replies curtly.

"Yet my own unchallenged freedom is tested. My power, unequaled it may be, but the liberty to enact my will feels constrained once more."

"By the boy?" she asks.

"He plays his part," Voldemort replies. "Becoming the most powerful wizard alive is only the first step to truly achieving freedom. There will always be those who doubt power, and even yet, those who will not falter in the face of it…" He glares at her, the contempt plainly apparent. "And even still, those who grow complacent in its constant presence.

She stands; her legs are weak beneath her. Without her unrelenting arrogance, the gaunt features Azkaban afflicted reveals just how trite this witch is by comparison.

"I see you are reminded," he says and raises his hand at her. The magic behind the simple gesture is enough to force her back to a seated position. She doesn't dare fight against it.

"Never have I forgotten," she answers. She doesn't allow the tremble within to carry into her words.

"I would have you hear my story, Bella. I want you to understand fully why I must never leave this world. Only then can you comprehend the magnificence of what I desire to accomplish."

Silence is her acquiescence.

"Life is a fickle thing. Fleeting at times, I have experienced. And so in lies my dilemma. If I am to be truly powerful, and thus truly free, I cannot be bound to the same mortal limitations as the rest." He slowly sits on his throne, easing onto the familiar chair as his bruised ego eases back into its unconditional adulation. "Despite the power to do whatever is my will in life, there is always the potential to be judged for it in the afterlife. That is unless this life becomes eternal, the only life, the only place for judgment, and one where I know I will forever exist above it. So being a truly powerful lord, one who is truly free, I cast death aside."

He pauses and flippantly adds, "Besides, what a terrible shame it would be working so hard to become the most powerful wizard alive only to waste it by dying."

The change in tone inspires hope in the witch. "And so you are truly the most powerful wizard to ever live."

"Perhaps. But only when the world bows at my feet will none ever question this," he replies.

"And we will help you achieve this, my lord."

"Is that what you believe, Bella?"

"It is," she says firmly.

"My mother knew power. She knew it when she forced my Muggle father to impregnate her. Even knowing it was in opposition of everything her lineage believed, she would have her way. What my father wanted did not matter in the situation; she had the power to force herself upon him. Yet her power was not great enough to escape punishment for her actions."

He does not have to look at her to see the horror his admission stirs. He does not regret the loss of her faith. It empowers him to feel the freedom in telling her this and knowing she is powerless to do anything about it. He witnesses her mounting rage, and it fuels his elation.

"Why?" she seethes. "Why lead us to believe you would have a world pure in blood when Muggle filth courses through your own body?"

He laughs at her anger. "Have you not been listening my dear Bella? I have only one cause, and I have long since known I have the power to see it through. I came to the wizarding world and watched the Pureblooded lord their wealth and resources over those who were not. I watched, and I pitied you all. All that power, yet none had ambition enough to see beyond simply flaunting it. It was so easy to exploit that bigotry. All it took was to align my path with your prejudices and the power and resources were mine to command. It is a means to an end. What do I care who are the powerless left to abide my rule?"

"You will pay!" she screams. Her rage pushes through his magic, and she jumps to her feet. "You promised us power, a world cleansed of the mudblood obscenities! Yet your perverse form is covered in its stench! She draws her wand in blind fury, _"Avada Kedavra!"_

The throne explodes into flame and debris. The cloud of smoke and residual magic prevents her from being able to see his dead form. Instantly violent trembles of fear and hate and anxiety begin to overwhelm as the realization of what she has done strikes at her. Unable to bear the wait, she looses a guttural scream and charges the dais. His body is not there.

She feels his hands loosely on both sides of her arms. Every fiber in her body screams at her to turn and fight, but she is suddenly unable to command them. "I haven't made you angry have I, Bella?" he hisses in her ear from behind.

His magic holds her powerless. Unable to move or speak, she feels the point of his wand slowly trace from the bottom of her chin downward, between her breasts and over her stomach. He stops well below her waistline.

"Above judgment. Above retribution. Above moral dilemma," he says with utter calm.

He doesn't speak an incantation, but she feels the magic from the tip of his wand rip into her belly like a fiery blade. It tears upward, and she is eviscerated. His magic releases its hold on her so that she only has time for one last painful scream.

Voldemort watches her die at his feet. Even in knowing he would do this, knowing his revelation would leave no other outcome, he experiences remorse. He closes his eyes and turns his head upward, fully embracing the emotion. He smiles as it wanes away and is replaced by an unquestioned sense of freedom — freedom in destroying what no one believed he would. Freedom in destroying the only life in this world aside from his he held in any regard.

He doesn't look back as he walks out of the room and into the main chamber. He leaves the door open as he exits, and several Death Eaters quickly come to his side.

"My lord, is everything alright?" Lucius Malfoy asks.

Voldemort looks the man in eye and sees that he is not looking back, but rather at the dead form of Lestrange in the room behind him. Looks of horror and disbelief grow over the face of each Death Eater in the room like dominos, and the Dark Lord revels in each.

"Lucius, I am going to need you to clean the throne room. Bella is leaking all over the floor."

He sees the looks of horror grow to confusion, "Ho ritenuto come distruggere qualche cosa di 'Bella,'" He says in response. All eyes turn to him, and it becomes quite evident those who know the Italian tongue from those who do not.

One by one the eyes of his Death Eaters begin to avert submissively from his stare. They don't dare question him. They won't dare to ask him anything, not about Lestrange and more importantly not about Potter.

_xxx_

"What in the bloody hell is he doing?"

"I don't know. He's been that way for some time now."

"You don't … you don't think maybe this is what he does when he's not out, well, you know, cutting the heads off Death Eaters, do you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's not a robot!"

"A what-bot? Are you prattling on about some Muggle thing again? I'm just saying, he looks like some sort of Harry replica sitting still there like that."

"Honestly!"

"Out of the way, wizard brats," Filmore snapped as he shoved between the two. "Less obtrusive should the unwelcome be, in a corner perhaps, or maybe in the talking rat's room. It does not seem to actively hate you."

Ron's brow furled and he raised a pointed finger at Filmore. "Listen up you barmy Muggle! If you donghh…"

Before he could finish Ron found himself lifted from his feet and captured in a vicious strangle hold. It helped Ron that he was nearly a half-meter taller than Filmore as the Muggle couldn't keep Ron suspended in the air. Instead Filmore choked the boy while holding him at an angle to the floor.

Filmore shoved his face into Ron's so that his lips were just touching the corner of the wizard's mouth. "It is Wizard Hunter to you!" He sneered. "Wise you would be to address me not at all. But fatal it shall become should you ever think to test my patience again. None is held in reserve for your kind."

"Please, Mr. …Hunter, sir," Hermione pleaded meekly. "Please release Ron. He didn't mean anything. Really, I'm certain he's quite sorry. If you would just release…"

Filmore's cold gaze flashed from Ron to Hermione effectively silencing her. Ron, still being choked, looked far from anything that resembled apologetic. His arms flailing frantically, slapping and pushing against Filmore's face and body, none of which deterred the Muggle from his stare or prevented him from denying Ron oxygen.

Trynsington opened his mouth to speak, but one of Ron's hands slapped him hard in the face. The Muggle didn't miss a beat as he pursued the hand with his opened mouth and bit down hard on the pinky finger. Ron's choked protests increased as much as his oxygen-deprived lungs could permit. "Wat 'eason, shuld I let dis 'izard go?" Filmore growled with the finger still in his mouth.

Hermione reached for her wand but didn't draw it. "We'll leave you be, sir!" she begged. "If you'll just release him."

Filmore spit the finger from his mouth but didn't stop choking Ron. The wizard was no longer flailing beneath the assault, and the arm that was connected to the bitten finger fell limp to the ground.

"Please!" Hermione cried. "He…he can't die too. I can't be alone. This isn't happening." Her cries were a mixture of manic and pain.

The Muggle's hate-filled stare intensified as he watched Ron's eyes roll back into his head. He listened as the witch's pleas turned to gibbering sobs. And then he let go.

"Since you said please," Trynsington calmly stated.

Hermione ran to Ron's side and held him has he coughed and gasped for air. "You're okay Ron. You're not going to die. No one else is going to die. We won't be alone," she rambled on as she rocked Ron back in forth against her chest.

Filmore watched the spectacle and couldn't hold back a sordid smile from his lips. "I'm barmy, says the wizard…"

Hermione looked up but not to the Muggle. "Harry, what are you doing?" she whispered.

"Conversing of course," Filmore replied.

Hermione flinched from the man's offered response and held Ron tighter. She turned her eyes back down to her boyfriend as she asked, "Did you say Harry's conversing?"

"Yes, with Slytherin."

"With Slyth … of-of course, thank you," she mumbled.

Filmore came to stand next to the witch, enjoying the discomfort it caused her. He looked over at Harry. "The witch may wish to remind her Harry to blink when he's talking to the voices in his head. Always forgets does he." He said and walked away, kicking Ron as he stepped over him to leave the room.

_xxx_

_"So Sal, you remember that little conversation we had back when you'd just relocated to Mr. Potter's Neighbor-head? The one where you said Voldemort wasn't a charter member?"_

"_Harry…" _

"_No, no, it's cool. I get you'd just moved in. Still getting a feel for the place and all that…housewarming party to plan, had to get that old Horcrux smell out before any guests arrived." _

"_Really, must we go through this? I had hoped you would find the maturity to move beyond the issue." _

"_Oh I'm mature, it's just I got a couple questions. How are you and your flat-mate getting on, I'd like to know? Are my conscious wanna-be and my mortal enemy-implant playing nice? Does he squeeze from the bottom of the toothpaste tube?" _

Slytherin didn't respond

"Uh oh…does that mean the family reunion isn't going so well?" Harry's voice began betraying the bitterness he felt. "You know, Sal, he does have seniority on you. You've only recently arrived, Tom was a belated first birthday 'presence'."

"_Are you quite done?" _Slytherin snapped.

"_Well, I guess to be fair we have to consider he's only one-seventh the entity you are. How's that math work anyhow? Let's see, sixteen years at a one-seventh existence, tally in the fucking-Harry-over factor for each of you…carry the one. Nope, you're definitely losing the squatter's rights contest, Sal." _

"_Listen you petulant whelp!" _Slytherin barked._ "If you had even one seventh the ability to draw on rational thought, you would know that my telling you of the Horcrux would have changed nothing." _

Harry snapped back instantly,_ "It would have…"_

"_Shut up!" _Slytherin yelled._ "This conversation is pointless, and I swear on my magic if you continue with this tripe I will turn you into a certified sipping-your-dinner-through-a-straw, brain-dead, steaming pile of wizarding mush." _

"_Pointless?" _Harry yelled._ "Being occupied by the soul of my enemy is pretty fucking pointed, you son-of-a-bitch! You told me he wasn't there. You said Tom was no more a part of me than the guilt I carry. So either you lied or you're too stupid to see him bunking next to you. Either way you'll pardon me if I don't go running off after a slurpee."_

Slytherin paused in an attempt to regain his composure. Calmly he stated,_ "You have my explanation, Harry. There was no way for me to know the Horcrux was here upon my arrival. By the time I had any certainty of its presence, I knew there was little I could do to remedy the situation. For the latter I __**am**__ sorry. But do not mistake that latitude for leverage to continue berating me." _

Harry took a deep breath, "_I know you're not wrong, Slytherin,"_ he said reluctantly. _"But you said trust was not something assumed; it was something earned. And you know people have been keeping shit from me all my life. I can't have that from the voice in my head. Not from you, Salazar. I've done most everything you asked of me, and in return you've done everything you can to help. But don't ever make with the assuming it's for my own good act again, right." _

"_You're right, Harry. But like those who've made this mistake before I only did it because you have to endure so much." _

Harry smirked. _"The Dumbledore impersonation doesn't suit you." _

"_Low, Harry, very low," _Slytherin quipped. "_But seeing as we now know you're a majority Slytherin, I'll let it slide." _

_xxx_

"Is he smiling now?" Ron managed with a rasp. "I don't get this, a moment ago the room was freezing over. Suddenly he's back to happy?"

Dobby popped into the room suddenly and responded to Ron's question. "Harry Potter sir is simply informing the voices in his head that they should be listening only to him," Dobby interjected.

"Voices? Did he say voices?" Ron asked, looking to Hermione, "as in plural?"

"Ooh…erm…can't, Dobby must not…" The house elf began trembling.

"Here you go, rat," Filmore said returning quickly to the room with a bat in hand. "Straighten out those bugs." He eyed Ron maliciously over top the house elf's head.

Ron flinched as he turned and saw Filmore standing next to him with a bat. Then he watched with horror as Dobby greedily snatched it away from the Muggle and began beating himself.

Hermione scrambled up from beneath Ron, stalked over to Dobby and wrestled the bat away angrily. "Dobby, stop that!" she said and kneeled before the recovering house elf. But just as she started to console the elf the sound of two very distinct clicks sounded just behind her head. She didn't have to turn to know what they were from.

Filmore stood with his pistol cocked and pointed at the back of Hermione's head. "If beat itself straight the rat wants, then beat itself straight shall it be allowed," he said sternly.

Hermione's face hardened into a angry glare. Slowly she stood and faced the Muggle. "Listen, if you want to shoot me then go ahead. But there's enough bad things happening in this world without this poor elf having to punish himself for no reason at all."

_xxx_

"_So you care to take a shot at explaining how Tom figured putting himself inside me was a good thing?" _Harry asked, but he didn't wait for a response. "_Seriously, how does a Dark Lord come to this decision? Is there a manual – '1001 ways to be an overly evil bastard'? Or is he just sitting around bored one night thinking, 'You know, I've had that not-so-villainous feeling lately. How can I fix that? Let me see, I've never skull-fucked a baby with my souly bits before. Come on, Wormtail, get the camera, we're going to try something new tonight!' _ Harry shook his head in disgust. "_It's no effing wonder the killing curse rebounded."_

"_There's really something very – __**very**__ – disturbed with you. You know that don't you?_" Slytherin said. "_Yet, despite the rather crude allusion and the eternal torment I shall suffer from that mental image, the original question remains significant. What are your thoughts on how this may have occurred?" _

"_One of us is supposed to have been a Hogwarts founder, here. What I am I going to say that you don't already know? Voldemort came, he killed, and he got vaporized. Obviously somewhere between the killing part and the getting vaporized part he planned on making a Horcrux."_

_"I'm sure your parents would be proud of that rather jocular recount of their demise," _Slytherin said irreverently.

_"Yeah, well it's all fun and games until somebody ends up with a scar and a parseltongue."_

_"Do you think it was his intent to make you a Horcrux?"_

_"No, I'm pretty positive that it was his intent to make me dead. Not a whole lot of gray area when it comes to killing curses after all."_

_"So we know a little more than what your brief description would have to offer?"_ Slytherin prodded. _"What about your mother? Do you think Tom intended her to be the vessel for his Horcrux?"_

_"I don't know. From what I've heard in retellings and what I've gleamed from those times the Dementors managed to scare it out of me, I got the impression he didn't want to deal with my mother at all," _Harry replied.

"_This is accurate with your mother's retelling of the incident. She said Voldemort commanded her to get out of the way. Why do you think this is?"_

_"Because he was using my father's murder as the catalyst for creating his Horcrux,"_ Harry stated.

"_A reasonable theory. But one that does not fit with our premise that Voldemort was not trying to make you a Horcrux_."

"_Oh, right…I mean, no…wait, how's that not fit with our premise?"_

"_To make a Horcrux, the caster has to use a murder to create a break in his soul. If he had already created such a break with your father's death, then the Horcrux should have been created before he ever encountered you and your mother," _Slytherin clarified.

"_I'll buy that._"

"_Truthfully, I believe Voldemort's effort to leave your mother unharmed was unrelated to either you or the Horcrux." _

"_Okay then, so we know he didn't use my dad's death to create his Horcrux, and we know he wasn't planning on killing my mom at all. And since we're here talking about how a Horcrux was, in fact, made, we can conclude Tom paid a visit to Godric's Hollow with the intent to make a Horcrux." _

"_I agree those are the facts," _Slytherin confirmed. _"Add to it what we know about the other Horcruxes, specifically that he liked to make them out of objects significantly associated with the founders. Can you deduce the rest, Harry?" _

"_I can give it a shot," _said Harry. _"Voldemort strolled into my parent's place ready to murder the prophesized child and, in a poetic turn of evil mustache twisting proportions, put the finishing touches on his plan for immortality. He takes out my dad and reluctantly my mom, and then makes with the preparations for using my death as the catalyst to place his last Horcrux. So there he is, soul pre-split from his body and ready for placement. But he doesn't count on some motherly mojo bouncing that killing curse back on him. Now he can't die. His last bit of soul is floating around without a home, and there's only one remaining vessel in the room for it to inhabit. Add it all up, and you've got a pissed off, mostly immortal seventeen-year-old with two Slytherins in his head and a strong urge to open up a whole can of Dark-Lord-Be-Right on Riddle's resurrected ass. _

The click of a pistol hammer prevented Harry from getting the confirmation from Slytherin that his reasoning was correct. "Damn it, Filmore, what did I tell you about shooting people in the house?" Harry snipped.

Filmore didn't smile. "This arrangement will not work." He pushed the tip of the gun hard enough against Hermione's forehead that the witch's head shook back, "Stinks of wizarding pompousness, does this one." Ron stepped forward challengingly when the man hit Hermione in the head with the point of his pistol. Filmore drew a second pistol and pointed it at Ron without even a look over at the wizard. "And this one epitomizes all that is wrong with his kind, ignorant and bigoted.

"Cut them a little slack, Trynsington," Harry argued. "They both just lost their families and most everyone they know to Death Eaters. All that talk about how bad they are, but you need to recognize you're not the easiest fellow to get on with either."

Filmore lowered both his guns but didn't holster them. "A refuge for the wizarding world's discarded cast-offs my home is not. And forget not that upon our meeting my attempts were to have you run through and pinned to the wall like a painting."

"What's he on about, his home?" Ron scoffed.

Filmore sneered viciously and quickly raised his gun back at Ron. "Filmore, NO!" Harry shouted. But it was too late as the gunshot rang out in a defining explosion through the house. Harry Flash Apparated instantly in front of the Muggle blinding him in a large cloud of black smoke. Filmore was skilled, and it took every bit of Harry's enhanced speed to disarm the man before he could properly react to the assault. When the smoke cleared, an unarmed Filmore could be seen choking Harry with his right hand while his left held a knife under the wizard's throat. Of course, Harry reacted with the lack of urgency appropriate for the level of threat this actually presented to him.

Hermione immediately fell to Ron, who was writhing on the floor covering the left side of his head with both hands. Dobby watched it all, not knowing what to do and eyeing the baseball bat on the floor next to Hermione.

Harry slowly reached up and twisted the wrist that was holding the knife, letting through enough of his temper though so that the cold would pain Filmore, but not hurt him. "Have you lost what little mind you had left?" Harry said in a slow, threatening voice.

Filmore loosened his grip around Harry's throat but didn't allow any response to betray his significant discomfort. "You're friend is unharmed," he replied calmly.

"Unharmed! He's shotten my bloody ear off!" Ron yelped, the pitch of his voice raising and lowering uncontrollably.

Hermione forced Ron to pull his hands away from his ear so Harry could see that the bottom piece of Ron's ear lobe had been removed. She offered a tight-lipped and harsh look at the man under Harry's grasp before she drew her wand and began tending to her boyfriend.

Harry looked back at Trynsington accusingly and received a raised eyebrow response of suddenly realized guilt. "Mostly unharmed," Filmore amended. "Still, the better now should he hear my threats."

"Trynsington…" Harry scolded.

"This is no more your home than my own," Filmore answered in defense.

"Then bloody well stop shooting people in it. Is it not enough that it's been burnt to hell by a dark lord and had the roof collapsed by an emotionally unstable house elf?" Filmore opened his mouth but Harry cut him off. "Rhetorical question, Muggle."

Harry approached Dobby, breaking the elf's fixation on the still unattended bat. "Can you fix Ron's ear?" he asked.

Dobby examined the wound from his position across the room. "House elf magics are able to be healing some wounds, but we is not usually having to replace pieces of wizards' ears, sir."

Hermione wasn't having much success in her attempts to help Ron. It dawned on Harry he could use this ordeal to get the duo out of his hair, especially if Ron had no choice but to go to St. Mungo's. But he knew it wouldn't last. Ron and Hermione truly had nowhere else to go, and sending them away only magnified that dilemma for them. "Do what you can Dobby," Harry said.

He walked back over to Trynsington and told the Muggle to follow him out of the room as Ron was tended to. "You know Filmore, Hermione's Muggle-born. That means both her parents are not wizards, just normal people like you."

"Is that so?" Filmore said with disinterest.

"Indeed. For the most part, she's really not anything like the wizards you hate so much."

"Hmm…so what do the parents who bear a witch do for a living?"

"They're dentists actually."

Filmore snarled like he just smelled something offensive. "I hate dentists."

xxx

Harry returned to the room after securing a promise from Filmore that he wouldn't shoot, maim, hurt, or kill Ron and Hermione. Dobby was no longer in the room, and Hermione was trying to fend off Ron from further prodding at his regenerated earlobe. Harry sighed heavily and made his way back to the stool with the intention of finishing his conversation with Slytherin.

"Harry, are you ever going to talk to us?" Hermione asked.

Harry didn't face the girl, but he did stop walking away. After a heavy breath he said, "Not here. I convinced Filmore not to harm you or Ron again, but that doesn't change the fact you've warn out what little welcome he had to offer. I really don't need the distraction of you swooning to stop Dobby from breaking another table on his head and Ron trying to attack Filmore's bullets with his ears while we're talking."

"Where…" Hermione started.

"Outside, in the clearing past the edge of town," Harry snapped interrupting the girl. "You would have passed it on your way here."

"We know where it is," Ron snipped.

Harry said nothing else. He Apparated to the location and waited for the couple to do the same. The round clearing in the forest located just outside the town wasn't overly large, maybe twenty meters across. He'd noticed it each time he'd flown over the town as a Thestral, but this was his first time actually setting foot within. Finding a large tree set at the edge of the clearing Harry took a seat with his back resting at its base. Dusk was starting to creep into night, so he summoned a pile of small wood and used his magic to light a fire. It seemed kind of ironic using magic to make things warmer for a change.

Hermione and Ron arrived just as he was finishing, and together they walked toward him. Harry was already lost in watching the dancing flames when they arrived. Neither Ron nor Hermione sat or said a word; they just stood opposite the fire from Harry and stared at the person they used to know.

"I don't have questions. I didn't ask for your help. And I'm not the one who requested to talk," Harry said without looking up. "So if you're going to stand there and stare at me like I'm on exhibit, we can go back to the house and let the improper speech partners get back to not liking you."

Ron clinched his fists and Hermione took on an affronted, opened-mouth, glare.

"And fuck off with your tempers. I reign supreme in the category. Your outmatched and thoroughly unprepared if that's the pissing contest you're looking for. Besides, I've just started to enjoy this nice little fire, and I'd rather not be pushed into putting it out."

Ron and Hermione exchanged their looks of anger for shock, and then sat down.

"What the hell happened to you, Harry?" Ron asked. "How'd you become such a right bastard all of a sudden?"

Harry half chuckled with a disgusted smirk. "Why am I such a bastard? Lets see…well, Voldemort thought it'd be fun to kick off the summer with a kill the Dursleys and make Harry watch party. That segued into a Malfoy torturing Harry all-nighter, and then they grand finale'd it all by making my soul a Harry snack for a pack of fucking Dementors." Harry snapped his gaze fiercely across the fire at Ron. "But what do I know, maybe it's all just raging teenage hormones," he snapped.

Ron paled but remained silent. Hermione gasped and covered her mouth and nose with both hands. Harry watched them reply with what he thought of as the standard, helpless, 'Merlin save me from the big bad,' pathetic response.

"But… then how did you escape?" Hermione asked.

"Escape! Who the fuck said anything about escape? I did what any respectable wizard would do in my situation and had my soul ripped from my beaten, tortured body. And you know what? I was happy for it too. Got to see Sirius, meet my parents, found out Dumbledore won the popular vote for asshole of the afterlife. But that's when the founders got in on festivities."

"You met the founders?" Ron asked.

Harry stared briefly at his friend wondering if Ron had any self-awareness of his daftness. "Met them, hell, Slytherin's living in my head as we speak." Harry cocked his head at Hermione, "And he says you got big teeth."

_"I never said such a thing,"_ Salazar snapped.

_"Nope, but that's one of the downsides of being incorporeal."_

It shut the witch's ever-gaping mouth.

"Cliff notes version," Harry interjected before either could summon another pointless response. "Prophecy says I can't stay in the afterlife unless I'm properly dead. Apparently Dementor-imposed early soul removal doesn't qualify. So I got sent back with a founder in tow." Harry stood and stared harshly down at fire, causing it to wilt under his temper. "So maybe I'm a right bastard ''cause I had my parents taken away from me not once, but twice now," he barked.

"Merlin Harry, I'm sorry," Ron responded.

"I'm not done!" he snapped. "So I'm back from the dead and mostly immortal…"

"Mostly!" Ron and Hermione said in unison.

Harry paused and delivered a stare that clearly threatened multitudes of unspoken reasons as to why he shouldn't be interrupted. "Voldemort can kill me, and I'm pretty sure I can kill myself," Harry continued. "But this last bit is the good part, so shake off the shock and bewildered for a second and pay attention. Last year Dumbledore took me on a merry medley of pensieve memories that laid out the history, horror, and hobbies of Tom Riddle. Turns out Voldemort had a thing for forcing pieces of his soul into different objects."

The two Gryffindors stared back at Harry with completely different looks of confusion.

Harry continued, "He's broken his soul into seven pieces, this way should anything kill him he's got bits left behind that keep him from moving on and make it possible to be resurrected." Harry pointed to the scar on his forehead. "The punch line. The night Voldemort came to kill me and got kerflueyed, he left a gift behind – namely separated piece number seven."

The fire instantly extinguished and the wizarding couple felt a severe cold spread over them. Without the flame, the realization that dusk had fully past and nighttime set in became apparent. There was just enough light that they could see Harry's outline. He spoke in a sinister growl, "So, Ron, to answer your question. I think I'm a right bastard because the hand I've been dealt is fucked, with a great big heaping side of really fucked. And the two of you come along and want for me to help you swallow down your own little servings of fucked."

"Harry we didn't know," Hermione said.

Harry sparked the fire once more and sat back down. "And now that you do know, it still doesn't change a thing."

"We can help each other," Hermione responded.

Harry didn't look up, and his voice didn't carry any tone of anger or pain when he replied, "You know you keep saying that. I just don't see it. It's not like when the fight comes you lot are going to be able to help me. You'll only be a distraction that I'd have to keep look over to make sure you're not getting killed."

Hermione and Ron both started to protest but he spoke over them. "And it's not like I'm really a help to you. Stay with me and even Trelawney could predict that mortal peril is in your future. You're a smart girl, Hermione. Surely you can see there's no help included in these ingredients."

Hermione trembled and grabbed onto Ron's arms. She didn't look at Harry as she responded. "No…no, we stay together and no one else leaves. Because we can't be alone – we're family. Family doesn't leave…leave you alone. Family helps and so we can help each other."

Harry watched his friend reduce to babbling drivel and looked up to Ron as he consoled her. The wizard pried himself from her grip and made to stand, soothing the increasingly manic protests of the girl at his departure. "You'll be fine here, Hermione, safe by the fire. Harry and are going to talk is all. No one's leaving you, I promise."

Hermione relented, and Ron led Harry away from the fire. Ron cast a blueball flame that lighted the way as they walked out of hearing range from the witch. "It helps keep her calm if she can see where we are and that she's not alone," he explained to Harry. Ron waited until he was sure Hermione could couldn't hear him and then quietly said, "So I don't need to tell you that Hermione's not been right since the wedding."

Harry stared back at Hermione who was holding her knees to her chest and rocking slightly as she stared blankly into the fire. "I've seen a decent share of crazy since this summer. She may be the only one so far who I think isn't actually capable of functioning with it."

Ron's face bristled, "If you call how that Muggle-thing acts, functioning…"

"Leave it alone, Ron." Harry interrupted. Even in the dark Harry could see Ron's face turning crimson red. "Though it looks like Hermione's not the only one changed since the wedding."

Ron didn't pretend not to understand. "They killed my entire family, Harry," he snarled. "My parents, Bill on his wedding day, Charlie…" Ron harshly brushed the tears away from his eyes. "The twins," he yelled and then bit back the most gut wrenching look of pain from his face. "…Ginny."

There was nothing Harry could say. He understood what Ron was going through; he pained for the loss of his surrogate family as well. But he knew from experience that saying any of those things offered no solace for his friend.

Ron fought with his emotions until he was composed enough to form his words clearly, "Even Percy was there to be killed." He blurted out with a laugh, but the fake smile was again consumed by the pain and tears. The altering fits of laughter and crying gave Ron a maddened appearance.

Harry placed his hand on Ron's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, but Ron instantly slapped it away. He stared fiercely at Harry, his tears continued but the look of agony was gone from his face. "I hate…everything," he spat. "It fills me until I think it's going to pour out of my eyes and ears. I hate them for killing my family, for what they've done to Hermione. I hate Voldemort for ordering the attack. I hate the Ministry for not protecting us." Ron pointed his finger at Harry so that it was just under his nose. "But most of all, I. Hate. You."

Ron held the finger and the hate-filled glare at Harry only momentarily. But then his hand and lips started to tremble and once again he broke into a sobbing cry. Ron pulled his accusing hand back against him and started to fall to his knees in front of Harry.

Harry caught the wizard before he could reach the ground and pulled him back to a stand. "I know your hate, Ron. I feel it too…I feel _**all**_ of it." He stared Ron in the eyes making sure the man understood the full meaning of what he was saying. "But there isn't room enough in this trio for two of us to be consumed by hate." Harry paused and then smirked. "And fortunately for me I'm the one dealt with the ability to act on that hate." It gave Ron a pause in his fits of sorrow, and for an instant a twinkle of the carefree Ron appeared before Harry. Harry held Ron by the shoulders. "I swear to you, Ron, I will kill every last one of them."

Ron took a deep breath and once again wiped the tears from his eyes. "I know you will, Harry," he said with surprising calm. "And it helps…some. It'd be a lie if I told you I'm okay with you getting to do all the killing. I want revenge so badly. If it weren't for Hermione, it's all I'd think about. But she…" Words failed him once more.

"You can't think on killing, Ron. I know it stings not taking them on yourself. But you were my family when I didn't have any. You were my first and best friend; you gave me love and acceptance that I'd never had before in life. You and your family were all of that for me; now let me be vengeance for you. I promise my wrath will match the favor in full."

"You talk like there's nothing else," Ron said.

"Is there?" Harry asked rhetorically. Ron opened his mouth, and Harry knew the response would be the same reflex response his friends always gave. He spoke before Ron could get the words out. "You know this is it, Ron. You've said it yourself; I'm not the same person. I'm changed. The powers may have returned my Dementor torn soul into my body, but I think some of it didn't make the trip back."

Ron couldn't look at Harry but he spoke with conviction. "There's still some of you in there, Harry. The person…the friend talking to me right now, I don't hate him as much."

There was a long silence between them. It should have felt uncomfortable; instead it felt final. Like the end of a movie, their silence was the empty credits signaling the end of so many things.

"It's settled then," Harry said finally. "Take Hermione away from this. Away from me, and Voldemort; away from the Ministry and everything you hate. Take your revenge on all of us by living — by doing exactly what we'd see robbed from you by our war. Give Hermione a whole bunch of red-headed Weasleys with big teeth. Never let her be alone and claim from Voldemort a piece of what he stole from you."

Ron stared over at Hermione who wasn't curled against herself anymore. "She won't go for it, Harry. She's holding on too tightly to what she's lost."

"She's never been able to deny the both of us when we set our mind to something. This won't be any different," Harry said as he began to lead Ron back over to the fire and Hermione.

"Thank you, Harry," Ron said awkwardly.

"Don't thank me, Ron. Not for this. The hate you feel for me is justified, and I'm not just saying that because I'm the living incarnation of The-Boy-Who-Wants-To-Play-Martyr."

"_Has the ever-angry Harry Potter finally found it in himself to remember a bit of humanity?" _Slytherin mocked.

_"Come now Sal, you know I've got my reputation to think of. I play the concerned, can't we all just get along role for a bit and just like that, I don't have to worry about babysitting anymore."_

_"Say what you will, you're not fooling anyone."_

They reached the fire but Hermione didn't look up to greet them. She was staring at the sky past the clearing in the woods and back towards Godric's Hollow. "They've come back to take everything else away from us," she said with a calm certainty.

Harry and Ron snapped around to see what Hermione was pointing at. The sky over Godric's Hollow was lit up with the multi-color storm of a wand fight. Harry growled and let his Thestral senses confirm what he already knew. The smell of blood and magic streamed through the air towards him. In an instant the wrath of his temper flared, extinguishing the fire instantly.

"Looks like I might get at a shot at collecting some of that killing for myself after all," Ron said and Apparated away.

"Ron no!" Hermione screamed after him.

Harry looked to the frantic girl and then back to the flashing sky over Godric's Hollow. "For fucks sake," he said with a plea. "Stay here Hermione!"

"Don't leave me, Harry! Don't let them take you away too. They've got Ron, but he's with his family now…he'll be okay. But we…we can be together. Stay with me, there's still time to run!" she cried.

"_Seems a shame," _Slytherin said, _"you giving that long, heart-wrenching speech, all for nothing."_

"_Get stuffed, Slytherin!"_ Harry barked. He looked back once more at Hermione and then Apparated away. When he reappeared outside the house the spectacle of chaos he saw before him left him with little hope that Salazar was mistaken, and filled him with a new found dread that Ron might not be the only casualty awaiting him.

"_Come, Harry, it's time to put back on your soulless, wrath incarnate face. That's if you wish there to be any chance you might ever get to see your friends again." _

**Closing Notes: **The Italian phrase at the end of the Voldemort/Bella scene translates (according to some web-based application) "I felt like destroying something beautiful." In my simple mind, I thought it was a witty play on the word Bella. Again thanks, and don't forget to hit up that review button!


	13. Recipe for Disaster

**Chapter 13 – Recipe for Disaster**

_So my friends, we've come near the crescendo of my little tale. And just when it seemed like things were all going according to non-plan too. There's nothing like a swarming Death Eater infestation to ruin a good tragedy. Wait. Or is it supposed to be the swarming Death Eaters that make this tragic? Who can tell such things anymore?_

_Salazar is not going to come out and say it, but I know he's holding back an 'I told you so' about Ron and Hermione. He's thinking that things would have worked out better had I taken a different route — perhaps one more thought out, involving months of training my magic and polishing my strategic mind… And you know what? He may be every bit of right. Had I taken the Dumbledore-twinkle-in-my-eye path and not the let's declare a one-man war of Goblin-like proportions against Voldemort then, yes. Hermione might not be finger painting with her feces over the soon-to-be-dead body of Ron Weasley; Fleur and Bill might not have become the pop culture, graphically violent equivalent of Romeo and Juliet; and I might still be that self-sacrificing hero who just made you want to squeeze his cheeks._

_Well give me a love potion and fuck me gently in the neck with a Horcrux! That just ain't the way things went down. Do I regret it? Yes. Am I capable of feeling the remorse of that regret anymore? Nope. But the lack of emotion provides clarity. Clarity to realize that no matter which path I took, its end led to me facing Voldemort and was paved by all the dead bodies that got in the way. I may have become something less than human for it, but clarity and logic lead me to believe that the shortest path to Voldemort, the one that's paved more by the dead bodies of his followers than those of his victims, is the best one. Even if it means I had to become a cold, soulless, murderer._

_Should it really matter to me? Short path, long path, loved, hated, or feared. I still got a skull full of bad guy. I told you from the beginning that if you want to point a finger, aim it at that scheming, hate-monger known as Fate._

_Which brings us to your regularly scheduled 'state of Fate update':_

_Fate is the well source of all suck in this piss ass world. Remember what I told you about her? Well, I was mistaken. It's not that she's **a** bitch, but more that I'm **her** bitch. It's a shit gig and one I suggest you pass on should the opportunity arise after I'm gone. _

_Luckily Fate's not much of a people person. Pause for effect…it's worth taking a long moment to ponder the cyclical hypocrisy hidden there. Because somewhere in that bit of dis-logic is a really profound, karmic truth to the world I've lived in. _

_You'll excuse me if I don't join you…I've got the aforementioned Death Eater horde to handle. _

_xxx_

**INGREDIENTS: **

6 years of Gryffindor impetuousness;  
The mortal peril of:  
- 1 best friend,  
- 1 house elf sidekick,  
- and 1 insane Muggle roommate;  
1 trip to the afterlife;  
1 trip back;  
A spot of reluctantly welcomed foreign soul inhabitation;  
A fragment of one that is not;

**DIRECTIONS:** Mix ingredients in a non-stick, immortal wizard body. Cover securely in a temperature resistant, blood-potion enhanced, Dementor-distorted Potter, and bake thoroughly over a Death Eater invasion.

**CAUTION:** Contents may be volatile!

The ground froze solid beneath Harry as his eyes assaulted his brain with information it wasn't prepared to come to terms with. Maybe he consciously decided to change into his animagus form. Or maybe Slytherin helped the process along in order to coax a reaction out of Harry. Whichever was the case, Harry couldn't tell. He did know that no matter how fast this Thestral form could move it wasn't fast enough.

Raw hatred pounded in his head and through his chest. He'd been pushed to these emotions before: after he was first sent back, during the attack on Hogsmeade, and at the Weasley Wedding. But this time it was worse – enhanced. They were attacking his home, the place where his parents had sacrificed themselves. They were going to kill Filmore, Ron, and Dobby. And he found their continued existence to be an intolerable offense. As a Thestral, he'd known the craving for blood. As a human, he'd known the craving for retribution. This was the first time he craved them both.

He drew on his magic for Flash Apparation and felt the cloud of black smoke build around his Thestral body. But when the time came for him to Apparate, he didn't move. Instead his magic began to physically pull in on the earth beneath him, the trees and plants beside him, the air around him. And when it felt like he could bear to hold on no longer, the magic released.

When his sight returned, he'd Apparated to the spot just outside the front of the house, which was just as he intended. But when he arrived there was an explosion in the distance behind him; growing louder; moving towards him. First he heard it, and then he saw the hooded heads of the Death Eaters outside the house turn in unison his way. Like dominoes, their eyes widened with terror.

He made to turn himself, and it was then he discovered his body hadn't yet materialized. He could see and hear, but the black smoke of his Flash Apparation still held him incorporeal. The explosion encompassed him with a deafening percussion, and he felt hot air press in around him. He watched as the Death Eaters in front of the house were disintegrated by earth, impaled by plant and tree, and scorched by the air. Then he rematerialized.

The thought, "_Holy Shit!"_ ran through his mind, but Slytherin didn't offer a comment in reply. There wasn't time for conversation, or for reasoning out the whys or what's next; both consciences knew this.

Harry ran into the rubble remains of his parents' house as more Death Eaters began to converge on his location. They were the distraction, and taking time to face them now would be like putting a band-aid on a bullet wound. His friends were in danger, and they were the only concern.

The Death Eaters stopped and took aim, and once again Harry drew on his Flash Apparition. Spells began to fly his way, but they simply passed through him or were blocked by the pull of his Apparation on the objects around him. This move was a risky, he knew it, but circumstances didn't leave a lot of room for planned precision. He disappeared through the floor of the house and re-materialized next to the main support beam in the basement. Again there was an explosion, and once again he remained incorporeal as the earth and house he'd drawn in from above exploded into the basement below.

Cries rang out through the blinding cloud of dust and debris that followed. Harry wanted to believe that he couldn't recognize any of the cries as those of Ron, Filmore, or Dobby. But he knew that was just his emotions attempting to reason with what logic told him was the likely truth. That even if, by some form of never before present in his life luck, none of those cries were from his friends, it was more likely because they were already dead. Still, Harry couldn't abandon the search.

His Thestral sight allowed him to see the outline of bodies and also the color trails from the varying scents of blood, sweat, and bile passing through the air. All of a sudden he saw the faint glow he knew to be Dobby's pass through his periphery. It was gone just as quickly, and then he saw it again on the other side of the room. He continued to watch as it popped around the basement even though it was hard to keep up with. Finally, it was right next to him and tugging on his wing.

"Harry Potter sir, we must be going," Dobby whispered. A curse instantly flew their way, but it missed by a significant amount. Dobby moved closer to Harry's head. "It is not being safe here. Dobby has taken Mr. Weasley and the funny-talking Muggle to a safer place. But they is hurt and not being able to defend themselves for long." More curses flew their way, some barely missing.

Harry changed back to his human form and took Dobby's hand. It was warm and slimy and the elf tensed briefly beneath his grip. He didn't need to ask if the elf was hurt. "Tell me where you took them Dobby, and I'll Apparate us there."

"They is blocking wizard Apparation, sir," Dobby answered.

Harry tried and felt the same resistance to his magic that he experienced from the Apparation wards placed over the Burrow during the wedding. Once again, he couldn't determine for certain if he was unable to push through, but performing a side-along with an injured house elf, to a described location, while blinded by dust and debris, didn't strike him as the smart way to go.

The house elf must have felt Harry's attempt. "Dobby is being able to pop through the wizards' blocks. But I is not able to go very far, sir. That is why Dobby could not take Harry Potter's friends to a safe place."

Harry thought briefly about changing back to his Thestral form but instantly realized the stupidity in bringing an animagus-based, anti-apparation-ward busting, explosion to the place where his friends were. "Take us there, Dobby," he whispered quickly.

A moment later they were outside of the house and hidden behind a large tree. It only took a look for Harry to see the situation wasn't pretty. Ron was unconscious with Filmore seated next him. The Muggle stared crazily and held his sword cocked over his head in one hand while two pistols and a rifle lay in his lap. Both men were bloodied to a degree that Harry instantly doubted their survival. But Dobby looked the worst of all. His face and body were covered in deep lacerations, and blood was trickling from his mouth and ears.

The elf smiled up at his master briefly and then collapsed.

Filmore lowered his sword when he realized it was Harry and Dobby. He quickly returned to reloading the clips for his guns. "Hope you don't mind. A more few wizards I shot in the house." After pushing the reloaded clips back into the handles of the pistols Filmore looked over to Ron. "Not him of course. Shot by another wizard was he."

"Are you okay?" Harry asked quickly.

"Live I will," the man replied and pushed himself up to his feet by leaning against the tree. "The rat took the worse. Defended us from the surprise attack. But then the stupid wizard came charging in, and the rat couldn't maintain a defense for both the wizard and I. Didn't need to for long. The wizard only lasted a moment. Silly arse never sought out a defensible position and was struck down by an attack from multiple sides."

Harry checked Ron further, and what he saw wasn't good. The boy was bleeding from just about every place a person who was hoping to live shouldn't be. Harry turned him gently, and Ron emitted a low, pained moan.

Harry didn't know what to do. His lust for revenge was urging him to fight. But Ron was dying; Dobby was probably not far behind; Filmore was a Muggle with some guns and a bevy of injuries onto himself; and for all intents and purposes, they were trapped in an exposed location that was likely on the verge of being discovered by a small army of Death Eaters.

…Would you like a side of Dark Lord with that order?

"Fuck!" Harry spat.

"'Bout sums it up," Filmore remarked as he looked around the tree for approaching Death Eaters.

"_What do we do, Slytherin?" _Harry asked.

"_What can you do, Harry? The situation isn't complicated, just dire. You don't need me to tell you your options." _

"_I'm not running! I can't leave them behind."_

"_Then I guess you're killing. So let's get on with it," Salazar_ said.

Harry looked over to Filmore, who was also staring back at him. "Not much to offer from old Slytherin, eh?"

Harry shook his head stiffly. "And what about you, any thoughts?"

"Me?" Filmore looked up at the night sky and sniffed in a deep breath of air. "Smells like the forecast calls for a hell storm of death and a fifty percent chance of survival." He smirked his practiced look of insanity at Harry. "At least that's the forecast for those of us who aren't impervious to expiration"

Harry nodded as his eyes turned black. He cast a disillusionment spell on Ron and Dobby and took the sword from Filmore. "I'll go get their attention. You make with the chunneling."

"In what way is the wizard going to get their attention?"

"The best way I know how," Harry replied and then pushed all of his magic into Flash Apparating through the anti-Apparation wards.

He popped into place directly behind a masked Death Eater. There was no explosion this time, and it felt like he was moving out of molasses as he rematerialized. Still he was able to move fast enough that the Death Eater didn't have time to react to his presence. With a guttural scream, he swung the sword upwards from beneath the wizard and cleanly cleaved him in half.

"Someone owl for The-Boy-Who-Fucking-Killed-You?" he screamed, but no one said anything. "Just raise your masks in the air, I'll be there momentarily."

Two wizards behind Harry immediately took aim at him. Harry's Thestral hearing heard the sound of two silenced rifle shots and instantly both Death Eaters were sent flying backwards from the bullets traveling through their heads.

Harry didn't stick around to see them hit the ground. Sheathing his sword and drawing both wands, he took off in a run away from where his friends were hidden. The Anti-Apparation wards slowed him down, and the inability to Flash around made it harder for him to get the angles and advantages he needed against the numbers he was facing.

More than once he was knocked off of his feet by a spell that got through his defenses. But each time he was able to fire off a curse that killed or disabled his nearest opponent. All the while he heard the constant whizzing of Filmore's bullets flying through the air, and the reassuring snap of those bullets hitting Death Eater pay dirt.

Harry tore through the horde of enemies, stabbing the ones who got close enough with his wands, cursing those out of reach. Filmore followed through by putting a bullet through any who were likely to get to Harry before he could get to them. Yet for every Death Eater they took out, it seemed like two appeared to replace them. Either he was going to have to find another advantage, or this fight was going to end badly for him and permanently for Filmore, Ron, and Dobby.

"_Your only hope is to find who is holding the Anti-Apparation wards around us," _Slytherin stated.

"_How?"_ It was all Harry could manage as he focused on firing off curses.

"_The wizard maintaining the wards won't be fighting, instead he'll be chanting the ward magic. Considering the magnitude of this attack, there will likely be more than one," Slytherin_ answered.

"_Oh, well, that should be a piece of effing pie then!" _Harry blurted. "_Anything else I should know?" _

"_They'll likely be in hiding." _

Harry would have gone on a tirade about the perfect uselessness of that bit of advice from Slytherin, but three things prevented this. The first was the small amount of capacity needed to keep up his double dowel barrage of silently cast _Sectumsempra_. The second was the sudden realization that the sound of bullets whizzing through the air had stopped. And the third was that his remaining ability to reason told him that between what Slytherin had shared and what Filmore was no longer sharing, there was no way he was winning this battle.

"_What can you do, Harry?"_ Slytherin repeated.

He didn't have an answer.

With the absence of Filmore's help, there was no more attacking the Death Eaters. He managed to dodge and fire only a couple more spells before an unseen curse sent him to his back. It was only because of his enhanced speed that he was able to roll to a knee and erect a shield before being pummeled into the ground. Regardless, the curses instantly began to beat relentlessly against his barrier, not giving him enough time to fire back, not allowing him any opportunity to lower the magic and push through the Apparation wards again.

_Can't Apparate… _Harry thought, _can't get back to my friends. Can't leave them behind. Can't stop the Death Eaters. Can't win…_

"_You can fly," _Slytherin replied.

Harry felt his shield beginning to give way under the onslaught of curses, "_What good is that? As soon as I transfigure, the shield drops; and instead of being a cursed-all-to-hell wizard, I'll be a beaten down Thestral." _

"_Know this, Harry: When you're having a staring contest with failure, it's better to be lucky than good. But should you lose, make sure to take as many of those bastards with you as you can!" _

Harry steeled his resolve. "Fuck it…what's the worse they can do?" he said aloud to himself. He looked up at the group of Death Eaters closing in on him and screamed, "I wasn't looking to live through this shit anyway!"

"_I will try to maintain your shield while you make the transformation," _Slytherin said hastily.

He dropped his shield and rolled off of his knees toward the front line of Death Eaters. His mind flashed astonishment on the fact he'd managed even that without being struck down, but the focus needed to fire off curses instantly pushed that thought away.

Kneeling in the middle of an exposed space, surrounded by Death Eaters cursing the shit out of you, suppressed under Anti-Apparition wards, and with your friends on the verge of death no more than thirty paces away: What do you do?

Harry pointed his wands at the earth between him and his enemies in front and behind him and fired off the fiercest _Reductor_ curses he could muster. The effect was twofold as the blast of the spells created a wall of exploding land and bodies between him and most of the remaining Death Eaters. The second effect was that the percussive force of those blasts sent him hurtling into the air.

To anyone watching, it would have appeared that Harry Potter had just blown himself and the closest circle of Death Eaters around him up. But Slytherin made good on his word to maintain Harry's shield. So instead of becoming The-Boy-Who-Died-In-A-Bloody-Mist, he remained the Boy-Who-Lived, though mostly maimed, suffering excruciating pain and airborne — a fair trade.

Consciousness began to slip from Harry as he hurtled through the air, and his mind began to experience flashbacks to the first night after he was sent back from the afterlife. The leap through the window out of Voldemort's castle, his body hurtling to its death against the rocks below, the annoying sound of what he now knew were his wings flapping against the night air.

_Fwump, fwump_… 

Some things never changed.

"_Are you doing that?" _Harry asked.

With a strained voice Slytherin replied, "_Yes." _He sounded muffled and far away.

Harry's mind flashed back to the explosion he'd just put himself through. Based on the ferocity of what he recalled, he was sure his body was thoroughly disagreeing with that decision. All the better that he just keep his distance, he thought. Maybe Slytherin wouldn't mind if he sat the rest of this one out.

A very short argument later, which included an implication from Harry that Slytherin's mother had been an unwashed woman that fornicated for payment, and a terse response from Slytherin that Harry would soon be consumable through a straw if he neglected to take control of his bodily functions, left Harry once again in control of one barely flyable and severely pained Thestral body.

"_You must focus on gaining altitude, Harry." _

Harry didn't have to ask why. The curses flying past his face and body were explanation enough. "_We have to make sure that everyone else is alright," _he argued.

"_You'll be no help to them if you get picked out of the sky. Besides, you can just as easily spot them from a distance," _Slytherin replied coarsely.

The pain was exacting too great a toll for him to continue arguing. And so he labored through, taking his Thestral form as high into the air as he could manage.

He stopped when he reached a height where the curses no longer chased after him. Pain and injury fought to cloud his mind. It urged all of his reason to think about escape, beckoning that he find safe shelter and rest. But he couldn't do that.

Harry looked down upon the field of dead wizards and destroyed homes beneath. The Death Eaters hadn't just come after him; they'd razed nearly every house and structure in Godric's Hollow.

Gaining his bearings, he looked over the grounds and found the gaping crater he'd sucked into his former house when he Apparated into it in his Thestral form. Seeing the carnage of it now, his mind couldn't figure any possible way that anyone who was in the basement at the time could have possibly survived.

But his friends had survived — Dobby had somehow saved them. Now he had to find them. He had to believe they were still alive. And he had to get them to safety.

_xxx_

Dobby woke to a suddenly sharp pain in his hip. There was no opportunity for him to gather his senses as a heavy mass of weight was suddenly smothering him. He turned his head while still under the object so that he could breath.

_Why was it being so hard to move_? he thought.

The weight began to squirm and make noises. It was warm and relatively soft, and that was enough reason for a good house elf to not go blasting this thing off of him. He looked from beneath the object to the location where his arm and hand should have been. There was nothing there. A reflexive panic struck, but he quickly realized that he could feel his arm, and he was currently wiggling his fingers.

_Where are Dobby's fingers being? _he thought.

The weight moved off of him, and a flood of light rushed in straining his large eyes. He struggled to gain focus on the figure beneath the shadowy silhouette over him. He could tell it was a wizard; maybe it was his Harry Potter.

_Harry Potter was a great wizard. Maybe he was covering Dobby to protect him from harm. Master certainly is the greatest and most wonderful of wizards, _he thought.

The wizard leaned down, and Dobby smiled nervously. Slowly the face came into view. But it wasn't the sad, exhausted face of his Harry Potter. It was the sneering, pale face of his former master, Lucius Malfoy.

He gasped, and the panic that struck him grew with increasing intensity as his mind suddenly flashed back through all the events that had led him to this point.

_Dobby is being fucked, _he thought.

Malfoy didn't say anything. He just pointed his wand and fired off a spell. The elf flinched and grasped protectively for his neck. But his neck and head hadn't been harmed. Instead he felt a cool sensation trickling over his body, and it was then he realized he had been disillusioned.

"Ah, look what we've found hiding like a coward while his favorite boy is meeting the last moments of his life," Malfoy said. "I've always said you were an utterly worthless elf, Dobby."

_xxx_

From his perch in the tree, Filmore played the roll of odds-evener. Raining silenced shells of demise he cleared the path for Harry as he fought his way through the attacking Death Eaters. The boy was insane if he thought his half-baked "_I'll be a distraction_" plan was going to work. But Filmore wasn't about to argue, not if it meant he got to sit in a tree and pick off wizards as his last act on this earth.

"This little wizard's lost his heart."

_Ssop!_

"This little wizard's got no more brains."

_Ssop! _

Filmore called off his victims as each bullet flew from his rifle. There was no helping the smile on his face; his boy Harry was just the sort of bait he'd always wanted. "That's right, Dorothy, I see you."

_Ssop_!

Another squeeze of his finger, another dead Death Eater, "…not in Kansas any more, you prick." He watched through the lens of his scope as Harry performed his art and made sure that any wizard who might have a shot at the boy didn't get to take it. So when he saw a curse fly through the scene in his scope just barely missing Harry, Filmore panned immediately in the direction from where it came. "I see you Mr. Tinn Man."

_Ssop!_

"Oil can can't fix you anymore." He scanned back to the battle around Harry. "Now let's see if a Toto we can find. Um hmm, there you are. Now. Sit!"

_Ssop! _

"Good dog."

Though his mind remained focus, he had enough wit so spare recognition that this might have been the moment he'd been dreaming about for most of his wizard slaying life. Hell, for this. he might even let Harry keep his wizard friends around a couple more days before he shot at them again — if they actually lived through it all.

Suddenly the branch next to his head exploded into pieces. Neither the explosion nor the flying debris caused him serious harm, but this meant his location had been compromised. He looked down from his spot and saw several wizards running towards his location.

"Bollocks!"

He repositioned himself in the tree so that he was shielded as he started picking off the oncoming threat. Three of them went down quickly, but one fired off a curse that struck the tree and instantly set it ablaze.

"Flaming bollocks!"

He jumped off of his perch drawing both pistols as he fell back to the ground. Short, stocky, but not quite fat, men don't land with grace. Filmore skipped the effort to try for it and instead hit the ground with a thud that collapsed his knees. Short, stocky, but not fat, men do, however, roll quite efficiently. And while the transition from face plant to forward roll may not have been smooth, he turned his abundant awkwardness into a maneuver that brought him up on the other end standing and with both pistols aimed at the ready.

Two in the head and the Death Eater was dropped before he could fire another curse. Filmore glanced back at the tree that was now fully ablaze. The stupid redheaded wizard boy was invisible somewhere near the base of that tree along with the magical rat. Another glance back towards Harry, and Filmore saw that he was getting pinned under a barrage of curses.

"A regular bollocks on parade is what we have here," he said.

His rifle was still pinned in the tree, and more Death Eaters were closing in as he stood in indecision. Filmore settled that Harry's immortality was going to have to help him get by on his own for a while and ran back to the tree. He began kicking with his feet at the ground hoping to locate the disappeared wizard and elf. He found Dobby a couple paces from the base of the fire and quickly pulled him to safety.

In the few seconds it took him to clear Dobby he was saved the problem of having to do the same for Ron. Though the boy's body was still invisible, it wasn't hard to miss the flames that were beginning to consume him. Filmore growled and resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't getting out of this without getting seriously burned. He began to move towards the body but was stopped abruptly by a pair of curses that flew past his face and chest.

Reflexively he turned and fired at the wizards. Only one was hit, and the remaining Death Eater fired off another series of curses that left the Filmore with no choice but to dive for cover. Unfortunately the only cover available was currently burning to the ground, and being a man of his proportions any dead bodies near enough to reach weren't going to be sufficient to shield him from the next series.

It was then a wail of agony pierced the air. Despite his mind pleading with him to remain focused on the wizard that was moments away from killing him, Filmore was compelled to look over towards the sound. What he saw was a screaming, writhing, ball of fire encompassing what appeared to be empty air. What he saw next was that writhing ball of fire stand up and sprint towards the very same wizard that was bearing down on him.

The Death Eater managed to get off a killing curse at the wailing ball of fire, but it was too late. Ron had gathered enough momentum that even after the spell struck him dead his body carried forward onto the Death Eater. The Death Eater's own screams of agony took over where Ron's had left off.

Filmore watched it all happen, and for the first time in as long as he could remember was dumbstruck about what he should do. The burning Death Eater was trying desperately to cast extinguishing spells on himself, but the pain was preventing him from being able to properly focus on the incantation. Filmore stood and watched the wizard stumble around in circles, pointing his wand at himself but not managing to perform any magic. He could have shot the man to stop the screaming and senselessness of it all. He let him burn.

Taking a quick survey of the grounds, Filmore checked for any more advancing wizards; he saw none. Then he looked past the burning tree to where he'd left Dobby and saw there was one remaining Death Eater, though it was focused on a now visible Dobby and not him.

_xxx_

Dobby extended his hand and snapped his fingers at Lucius, forcing the wizard to flinch away defensively. A smattering of sparks emanated from between the elf's fingers, but nothing else occurred. Recovering from his exaggerated flinch, Lucius slowly lowered his arms and revealed a smug sneer that was crawling over his face.

He pointed his wand casually at the elf beneath him. "I don't think I've ever heard of such a pathetically sad thing as you, Dobby. It almost seems too merciful killing you – though not quite." Malfoy's sneer furled into a cruel snarl as he fired off a cutting curse at Dobby's neck.

**BOOM!**

The explosion of Harry's twin Reductor curses struck so hard that the foundation of every building and structure still standing in Godric's Hollow was shaken to its foundation. It left the Death Eaters nearest to the blast in tiny pieces. It left those just outside of explosion bleeding and deaf. And those fortunate enough to be at the far outskirts of the blast were left only shaken, startled, and bewildered.

Except for two.

As a being so close to magic and even closer to Harry Potter, it's possible that Dobby might have known straight away it was his master and friend who'd caused the explosion. But being a house elf, once his head was removed from his body there was no other choice in the matter but to die.

Lucius Malfoy never got the opportunity to see the result of his murderous curse or contemplate the matter of the explosion because the bullet lodged in his skull had effectively stopped all brain function.

Filmore, on the other hand, once again found himself clueless as to what was happening and growing quite annoyed with the familiarity in that predicament. He looked to the sky because his periphery caught what appeared to be a Harry Potter soaring through the air. Confirming this he watched as the wizard continued to fly overhead until he mutated and then turned into a horse with wings. He decided to let himself off the hook for being consistently confused after seeing that.

Filmore looked back to where Dobby and the fallen white haired Death Eater were. He could see the blood pouring out of the back of the man's head where his bullet had entered. "Well rat, suppose you'll not want any of that on you," he called out to Dobby.

Filmore hustled to retrieve the elf, "Thank me not," he said haughtily. "Killing wizards is what Filmores do best…" It was then he noticed the gap between the house elf's neck and head. His mind froze once more, and this time it couldn't be bothered with being annoyed over the predicament. All it could do was take in the sight of Dobby. The elf's eyes were still wide-open and bright, seemingly alive, and staring back at him. His mouth was closed, and his facial expression looked calm and unafraid.

Filmore bent over and touched the shoulder of the headless body. "Dobby?" he said with a slight shake of the body. What did he know about magical rats, he thought to himself. Maybe a finger snap or a wand wave could fix this problem. If Goblins were bankers and immortal wizards could turn into flying horses, then why did a house elf without a head have to be dead? But there was no response to his ministrations. And no matter how unreasonable the magical world seemed at times, there was an undeniable certainty when it came to heads and their being disconnected from their body.

It was then Filmore heard the yells of wizards approaching followed by the sound of their feet crunching against the ground. He stared into the eyes of Dobby as his mind put together the situation. It didn't require looking up to see the approaching attackers were many, and once his mind figured this it filled instantly with all the hate he'd accumulated over the years for these creatures.

Slowly, Filmore reached for his pistol on the ground next to Dobby. "Our last stand, rat. This one we do together." He grasped the weapon in one hand and with his other lifted the head of Dobby and cradled it next to his body. He stood.

The wizards came from every direction, and Filmore began squeezing off rounds as fast as he could. There was no time to watch if his shots landed or not. The point was to get a shot at as many of the bastards as he could and hope that years of training had made his aim true. He wasn't going to survive this, but he'd be damned if a majority of them would either.

The first curse that hit him blew the shoulder of the arm that was holding Dobby's head wide open. He felt the muscles in his hand give way and release his companion. There was nothing for that now; he could only use the momentum of the blast to swing his body around and begin shooting holes in the wizards coming from the other side. He pulled at the trigger again and again until the gun stopped exploding.

He had only a brief moment to admire the circle of dead Death Eaters that was his handy work before the barrage of killing curses struck him dead.

_xxx_

His body was hurt and broken, and his magic was exhausted. Whatever power he had left in him was forced to focus on preventing his immortal status from becoming a less permanent condition. And every stroke of rational thought told him to give up.

_They're already dead_, his mind argued. _And_ e_ven if they're not, you're in no shape to help them. On the outside chance they are alive, that means they're hidden from the Death Eaters. Showing up to help would only reveal their positions. _Reason carried on relentlessly. _Just go rest and wait for the smoke to clear – everything will be fine. _

Emotion fought desperately against the onslaught of Reason, but it wasn't to be outdone. _What about Hermione? She's been alone through all of this. And if everyone else is gone, you are all she has left. _There was Guile paired in with that bit of Reason, and they were a near impossible tandem to argue against.

That is until reality presents you with visual confirmation that all of Reason's rationalizing is just a load of bullshit. It's then you'll find Reason begins to backpedal, because Reason never admits to being wrong: It simply changes the subject. _That's not really them. That body, that short, stocky, but not quite fat body, with the bald head and the overly hairy arms…the one with the gun next to it…surrounded by Death Eaters and not moving – that's not the dead body of Filmore Trynsington. _

Harry's heart beat so hard against his Thestral chest he thought maybe it was trying to punish him.

_It's_ _okay, Harry! _Reason tried to comfort him. _That head, the one with no body and the big tennis ball eyes lying in dirt next to the body that isn't Filmore. That head doesn't belong to Dobby. _

He felt something building inside of him. He didn't know how to release the guttural sensation, but he was sure it would kill him if he couldn't get it out. It was beyond physical pain, worse than dying, more severe than despair.

His Thestral nose discovered the scent of burnt flesh and instantly located the source. Harry took in the sight, and before his emotion could react Reason was there. _It's not him. How could it be? It can't because…it just can't. _

Sometimes Reason is just a blithering son of a bitch.

In psychological circles, they say there are five stages of grief. The blithering bitchiness of Reason tends to be given off as the first stage – **Denial**. The problem, however, with your standard psychological assessment is that it has never had the chance to study the reactions of a back-from-the-dead, hell-bent-on-revenge, Harry Potter. Because the next four stages of Harry's grief came in very fast succession, he shared them in all their merciless terror with the Death Eaters unfortunate enough to still be around the bodies of his fallen friends.

**Anger**

It was too simple a term to describe what fueled him past the pain and exhaustion as he launched himself towards the ground — or to explain why when he landed he made sure his Thestral hooves drove through the head and body of the pair of Death Eaters nearest Filmore and Dobby.

**Bargaining **

His friends may be dead, and life was certainly meaningless to him at this point. But he'd be damned if those that did this weren't going into the afterlife in such a way that even their souls would suffer eternally. There was no posturing by Harry. He transformed back to his human body and launched himself at the nearest Death Eater. With his wands buried halfway into the wizard's chest Harry released a pair of Cruciatus curses into his victim. The man would have screamed but apparently his vocal chords weren't capable of generating a sound to match the agony.

**Depression **

The Death Eaters that witnessed the unbelievably fast and horrible deaths of their comrades were certainly very depressed about the possibilities of their near future condition.

**Acceptance **

More and more of the remaining Death Eaters fell. Of course they fired their curses at Harry, who didn't so much shield himself from them as he simply batted them away. And as the carnage of the bloody, burned, and dismantled bodies mounted, those that could escape did so. But they accepted the fact that not only had they lost this battle, but this was the day they all were going end up dead.

When Harry found himself finally alone amongst the dead bodies and burned down town of Godric's Hollow, he was beyond despair. Tears left streaks of clean skin down his blood and dirt-covered face. He could no longer feel his body, he couldn't hear Slytherin, and he had no idea what to do now that there was nothing left to kill.

Dazed, he stumbled back to the body of Trynsington and fell to his knees beneath Dobby's head. First he looked at the simple, innocent, and unafraid look on Dobby's face. The sound of burning buildings crumpling around him seemed to be such an insult to the peaceful gaze Dobby cast upon him. It forced his anger to flare momentarily, and he wished that the buildings would suffer as well for their intrusion on Dobby's serenity.

Then he looked over to Filmore. The dead man had a grin so wide it reached from ear to ear. His eyes were still wide open, and his matted hair was spread loosely over his face. It was a look that exactly described the insane man in life, and even though it felt completely agonizing to Harry, he was compelled to chuckle at the sight.

Harry couldn't bring himself to look at the charred remains of Ron. He didn't want to remember his friend that way, and even more he didn't have the grief left in him to properly mourn the loss. Instead he transported all three bodies to the graveyard in Godric's Hollow. Despite the burning buildings and blown up landscape, the graveyard was naturally the one thing that wasn't desecrated. After all, what's the point in destroying the dead? That would just be egregious. Even for Death Eaters.

Using what little remained of his magic he made graves and buried each of his friends. Upon the tombstones he wrote:

Filmore Trynsington  
My Friend  
_He really liked to shoot things_

Ron Weasley  
My Best Mate  
_He really liked to eat_

Dobby  
My Companion  
_He really liked socks_

Life seems so much simpler when it's being summarized in a sentence and etched on stone.


	14. My Mind is a Terrible Place to Wait

**Author's notes: **Any commentary I could make about the time between updates would be a waste. I offer my apology for whatever that is worth. Despite this Bi-annual update rate, Lisa725 remains kindly enough to beta another chapter. She has my thanks for that. My thought's about this chapter are going to be left in the closing remarks.

While we're in the proximity of why Omagic sucks, I need to point you to another oversight that I just this week noticed. I posted Chapter 11 without the first 730 words of the freakin' chapter! Yup, my dumbass never even sent them to Lisa725 for beta, just clipped them out when I split the chapter in two and went on my merry... Nice. Anyways, the chapter has been updated, and conveniently enough for you, the never before seen text is the very first segment of the chapter. Enjoy...I guess.

**Chapter 14 – My Mind is a Dangerous Place to Wait**

_Got a moment? Well consider this with me. What does it mean to be immortal? Is it really such a good thing? _

_To live forever… _

_I know, at first glance it's got some serious appeal. No longer are you a slave to time, and you have a limitless wealth of that which is the most precious resource in life. Time to learn everything you desire, to experience all that existence has to offer, to bed infinite women – or men should your gender or preferences swing that way. Time for you to see all the magnificent wonders the human mind creates — and an evolving perspective to truly appreciate or abhor those creations. The capacity to continuously improve yourself and the ones you love. _

_The ones you love…_

_There's the cost. The part you're not thinking about. The part I can't see past. Live forever, and you face an endless life of loss. It's a purgatory where the ultimate realization is that every new friend you make, every woman you bed, and every relationship you experience comes with the penalty that you will watch them die. Immortality is the truth that there is no next great adventure. _

_You go on; everyone else gets to move on…_

_And what's the closest example I've got to use for a measure of the full meaning of being immortal. I'd say it has to be everyone's favorite Headmaster. And wasn't he a shining example of all of life's giddiest goodness. Because if you live long enough, if your immortal perspective has the purvey of 'been there done that', then who else can you expect to make the ever overrated determination of what's the greater good? No, immortality isn't the gift of ownership over life's greatest resource. It's an eternal existence of being Time's bitch. _

_To live forever…_

_Have you thought about it? Does it still have serious appeal? Forever alone, an unending circle of mounting regrets, an existence where each day means you're closer to experiencing that next great loss? Well fuck that. I've been alone all my life. I've got regrets enough. And I've had my fill of loss. _

_This ain't goodbye, but as for The-Boy-Who-Lived, well, he'll see you on the other side…._

_xxx_

"_Harry,_" Slytherin said softly.

"_Please Sal, leave it alone,_" Harry responded.

There was a long pause before Slytherin replied. "_I wouldn't…_" He started and then stopped. "_Harry, we have to investigate the remains of your parents' house. If the Horcruxes were taken then…" _

"_The Horcruxes!_"

Harry took off towards the house, but what he saw didn't give him much hope that if the Horcruxes were still in there he'd have any luck finding them. What was left of his parents' house was little more than a pile of smoldering rubble. The hatch to the basement had been sucked into the ground during his Thestral Apparition, so he had to fight his way down through the debris. To call what he saw at the bottom a basement would be like calling what Hagrid did during his Hogwarts lessons teaching. Both might have resembled something more familiar, but they really were just a colossal mess. Harry sighed and began the arduous task of sifting through the detritus in search of the items.

"_You are a wizard, Potter_," Slytherin suggested.

Harry didn't respond; he just dropped the burnt piece of house in his hand and pulled out his wand. "_Accio _Horcruxes." The simple spell put such a drain on his magic that he actually got lightheaded from the effort. What was worse there was no locket or grimmoire flying towards him. There wasn't even the sound of anything fighting to free itself from being trapped or pinned down.

"Fuck!" Harry snapped aloud.

"_Relax. Take a moment to gather your power, and then try once more with as much strength as possible._"

Harry collapsed to the floor and leaned against a pile of debris. Performing the simple magic had left him winded, and that lightheaded sensation wasn't going away.

"_I don't want to do this anymore, Sal,_" Harry said dejectedly.

"_It is better than having to come back later to resume the search._"

"_That's not what I meant. I don't want to fight anymore. I don't care if he wins. I don't care what happens to everyone if I lose. I don't want to do this anymore._"

"_I know what you meant, Harry. And I won't try to convince you otherwise._"

"_You won't_?" Harry said, astonished.

"_No. But you know that means you'll have to spend the rest of your days suffering the likes of me in your head. And I should warn you, I've always had difficulty with commitment._"

Harry didn't smile even though he appreciated the founder's attempt. "_At least I can know for sure you won't die._"

Slytherin didn't say anything, and they sat in silence for a while before Harry spoke up again. "_Do Muggles go to the same afterlife as wizards_?"

Salazar didn't answer immediately. "_Yes, they do._"

Harry stood and waited to see if another bout of lightheadedness came. It didn't, and he again pointed his wand. "_I appreciate you lying._"

"_I figured in this one instance it was the right thing to do,_" Salazar replied.

"_Accio_ Horcruxes," Harry yelled. The locket flew straight to him, and he caught it, but the grimmoire did not follow. There was a very faint sound of something banging behind a collapsed wall of debris, but there was no way to get around it.

"Oh, come on!" Harry exclaimed. "Really?"

Harry walked up and kicked the largest chunk of wood at the bottom of the pile that he figured wouldn't break his foot. There was a small cascade of dust from the top of the mound and then a low rumble of sound. The rumble grew to a roar as the pile suddenly gave and the back end of the house above fell into the basement. Harry ran from the collapsing structure as fast as he could, dodging falling debris whilst climbing over what was already on the ground. By the time it stopped Harry was left choking on all the dust and too blinded by the same to the see the book flying through the air towards him. It hit him in the head and landed on his feet.

"_At least we know that Voldemort remains unaware of his missing Horcruxes,_" Slytherin commented.

_xxx_

The trip back to Hermione was slow going. Normally, it would have only taken a second to complete. But a lack of magic and an abundance of hurt left normal a distant consideration. But then it wasn't like he was in a hurry to get back to the crazy witch to deliver the news that was going to push her full on past, "She's a bit off, that girl" and straight into, "She-Who-Shan't-Be-Sane."

Not only did he not know how he was going to tell her, but he had no clue what he was going to do with her once she knew. By his logic, Harry was the worse person to offer help. He was houseless, She was useless. And as for the effort needed to take care of her, there was nothing he wanted less.

If not for the bitter feelings of loss still so fresh, he might have been able to summon enough inner bastard to simply leave her behind. As it turned out, he was spared the hardship of having to tell Hermione at all.

Fate really is a remarkable creature. Sometimes she throws you a break. If you're Harry Potter, it's more like a brick aimed at the back of your head and traveling at high speeds. So when it felt like he'd been hit by a bit of masonry upon seeing Severus Snape sitting casually on a log in front of the campfire with Hermione, Harry wasn't left wondering who'd thrown it.

"_For fuck's sake, who do I have to blow to get a time out around here?" _Harry screamed.

"_It is at this very moment, I am most grateful for being incorporeal…"_

"_What the hell am I supposed to do? I don't have it in me to face him in a fight. I can barely see straight much less duel Snape and protect Hermione." _

"_I promised retribution for this man's offenses. And so I shall deliver," _Slytherin intoned with a cold severity.

"_Realm of the imaginary, this is the real world calling. We'd like to offer you a free sample of reality check. Included in this month's edition is a feature on how the voice in my head can't affect the people outside of it." _

"_I once told you I believe respect and trust are earned. Trust in me when I ask you not to prevent his Legilimency attack. For my part, I promise a return worthy of your respect."_

Harry landed at the outskirts of the clearing and immediately changed back to his human form. "_What if he doesn't try Legilimency?" _

"_It's Severus Snape…" _

Harry arrived at the campfire to a beaming Hermione and without even the slightest of acknowledgments from Snape. Oblivious to the threat seated next to her, the witch popped up and ran at Harry, engulfing him in a desperate hug. He struggled under the weight but managed to avoid stumbling. He could only hope Snape didn't spot the effort.

"It appears I was mistaken, Ms. Granger. Not _all_ of your friends have been destroyed." Snape looked over the witch's back at Harry. "Well, not completely – not yet."

Harry took in the smug look on the man's face, and it filled him with unfettered rage. He imagined Apparating behind Snape and shoving his wand through the back of the bastard's head. No witty insults or threats, no posturing or sneers, just Snape dead, and Harry carrying around his dismembered head on his wand. He would play with it like a ventriloquist's dummy for Hermione. "_I'm Severus Snape, the Half Brained Prick…on a stick._"

Or so he imagined.

But Harry didn't have the magic in him, so instead he took an exaggerated sniff of the air. "Still smells like something's dead, Sev. We ought to see to that." And he let the goading begin.

Snape didn't reply, but stood and pulled his wand from the sleeve of his robe.

"Harry," Hermione said as she looked up casually from her hug, "is Ron really gone? He told me he would never leave, but Ron's a boy and sometimes boys say things they don't really mean." There was a look of sincere curiosity in her eyes. Then suddenly her face went pale, and a look of agony replaced her former appearance. She collapsed to the ground at Harry's feet and broke into tears. "My mom used to tell me that."

Snape stared pitilessly at the girl. "It is simply remarkable, Potter. I believe there has never been another quite so effective at ruining the lives of everyone he's ever come into contact with."

Harry's look steeled as he turned his gaze up from the girl to address Snape. "Anything you can do, I can do better."

Anger flashed across the man's face, but he hid it away just as quickly. "Let us put that to the test." The curse flew from Snape's wand without speech or pause. Harry didn't have much left in him, be it magical or physical, and the drain of the former was making the fatigue of the latter all the worse. Still, there was always the unflappable force of gravity, and he used it to his favor and avoided the spell by dropping to the ground. A second spell exploded next to his head as he rolled to the side. Instantly his face was splattered with a barrage of dirt and grass that dug into his skin and filled his eye.

Ignoring the pain, he rose and drew his sword with a single swift movement. The next spell was already on its way, and he tried blocking it with the weapon to no avail. The loss of sight in his one eye had made his aim untrue. The spell struck, launching him through the air and into the base of a tree at the edge of the clearing.

Hermione jumped up from her daze and ran in between Harry and Snape. "Stop this at once, the both of you! Hasn't there been enough dying?" She turned to the Death Eater, "Professor Snape, I'm sure whatever Harry has done he deserves his punishment, but this is taking it too far." She turned to Harry, "And must you always antagonize the professor? You know he doesn't like you, why push it further?"

Crumpled at the base of the tree and trying to fight back the black spots from growing larger before his eyes, Harry stared desperately at Hermione.

Snape caught the desperation behind Harry's glare and smiled, "You know killing her would be much more merciful than allowing this blathering bag of madness to continue on."

Realizing what Snape had said, Hermione ran to Harry and hid her head in his chest. Harry looked down at the back of the girl's head and then buried his sword in the ground so he could brace himself into a stand. A little flash of his temper was all it took for the girl to flinch away in pain from her contact with him. He shot her a cold look with his one eye capable of doing so and nodded for her to hide behind the tree that had been his inconveniently placed midflight obstruction.

"If nothing else, Hermione was always right. And bat shit crazy she may be, but it still doesn't change that quality in her."

"Please, don't tell me you actually believe her little speech will save you?"

"Her speech? No. I'm going to fucking drop you where you stand all on my own. But she's right about how much I enjoy antagonizing you."

Snape gave up any attempt to retain his composure. His face reddened, and the glare he shot at Harry left no uncertainties as to his intentions. "You will never learn the cost of your arrogance? Diggory, Black … even Dumbledore all were sacrificed to further enhance your own self-importance." Snape finished crossing the distance between him and Harry and raised his wand, "I'm sure the additional forfeiture of Ms. Granger's life will have little effect."

Harry wiped the dirt from his bloodied eye. "Well, no one has quite mastered taking a shit in peoples' karma-flakes quite like I have." He tried to stand without leaning against the tree, but the black spots in front of his eyes started to grow together again. Harry laughed and then spit a mouthful of blood and dirt at Snape's feet. "Though I'm sure when it's all over, you'll at least be in the conversation for life's greatest fuck ups along with me."

As Snape looked down. Harry pulled the locket from his back pocket and intertwined it between the fingers of his left hand. By the time Snape looked back up. Harry was holding his sword with both hands in front of him.

Snape's face hardened. and he took aim with his wand once again. But his eyes caught the glimmer from the locket in Harry's hands, and he stopped. "What is in your hand, Potter?"

Harry pulled his hand with the locket from the sword and grasped the item in his empty hand firmly. "Just a locket I keep around to help remind me why I keep fighting … got a picture of your mom inside."

Snape didn't rise to the insult. "You will tell me," he said flatly.

"Or what, you'll fucking spank me? Even if you managed to pry this from my hands, I'd never tell you what it is."

"You presume I'll actually need to remove the item from you to get this information."

A wicked grin grew over Harry's face. "What is it you think is going to happen here? I've got a sword, two wands, and a temper with frosty ramifications. You've got a big nose, greasy hair, and a well-practiced sneer. Not exactly even odds."

"Arrogant to the very end," Snape snarled, and snapped his wand towards Harry's head. "_Legilimens_!"

He saw it coming and had to fight his every urge to prevent the man from passing through his Occlumency shields. The curse hit like an anvil, and Harry instantly felt a tremendous pressure around his head. Black spots began to form in his vision, quickly growing together until he was blinded; he heard the thump of his heart pounding inside his head, and then suddenly every sensation of being connected to his body disappeared.

No noise. No pressure or pain. No sight. No body. Just the blackness, and the sound of a familiar voice…

"_You're going to enjoy this, Potter,_" Slytherin said.

_xxx_

Legilimency is a delicate art …

_The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing... It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. – Severus Snape, OOTP_

Apparently Salazar Slytherin never got that memo. Then again, being the architect who unraveled the ability to wield mind magics meant he laid claim to the rights of setting such conventions rather than conforming to them.

Unfortunately for Severus Snape, he found himself in an actionable position without full knowledge of the circumstances. He knew of the Harry's temper, and with it his inability to control his emotions. He was even aware, if reluctantly so, of the boy's impressive power. But when it came to Hogwart's founders, more specifically the one responsible for the creation of cranial fortification, residing in Harry's head — well, this was a crucial bit of information that Snape was lacking.

And so with incomplete knowledge Snape cast his Legilimens curse at Harry with enough power to obliterate the boy's mind. The curse hit. Snape smirked. And then everything went black.

And stayed black…

Always a rational man, a scholar he would have told you, Snape knew he held no physical presence in this state. But even with an enhanced sense of reason, he couldn't resist grasping around for something, anything, tangible. He held no sense of body and was completely blinded in darkness. The need for an anchor in this oblivion of eternal vacancy quickly tore away rational, scholarly thoughts. Past the point of questioning if something had gone wrong, Snape struggled against his captivity. But he couldn't free himself from Harry's mind, and he couldn't force himself any farther into it.

He was trapped, lost, down the vaults without a cart, screwed, unglued, petrified, and overall a little bit more than put out by the lot of it.

Then a dull click echoed through the empty black. An instant later, a blinding beam of yellow-white light shone onto him.

For Harry this too was the first time he was able to see anything. The difference was that he was able to retain a sense of himself and his body outside of the darkness. When the spotlight suddenly cued onto Snape, it was like he was watching the scene through a pensieve, just as he had when Salazar took him through the scenes of Hogwart's history.

Slowly Harry was able to see past his vision of Snape spotlighted in his head and actually see the man standing catatonic across the clearing from him. While it took some adjustment for Harry, in the end distinguishing between the two sights was no more difficult than changing focus on something near versus far.

But in any situation a gaping, panicky, trapped in your mind, and spot lit Snape is much more entertaining to focus on than the catatonic, lifeless one standing in front of him. So Harry turned his attention inward to whatever show Salazar was preparing.

_xxx_

"Severus Snape, once again you come to this place uninvited. And like the many before who have suffered your wasted existence, I am forced to stomach the stench of bigotry," said a voice, which to Snape seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once, evenly and without emotion.

The man stiffened as he listened to the words. Yet he wouldn't let on how unsettling it was not being able to see the source of those words beyond the unrelenting blackness surrounding him. He tightened his posture, held his head high, and straightened his robes. And while doing so, he made sure to feel for the wand tucked away in his sleeve.

The omnipresent voice continued, "The question, Snape, is what to do."

The wizard took a deep sniff of the air and spoke, "Impressive Potter. You have learned a new trick. But will it be enough?"

"Ehem." Slytherin cleared his throat and took form. A second spotlight shown down from above onto the founder, who was nearly ten paces away and behind Snape. The Death Eater spun instantly and drew his wand. There was brief pause as recognition set onto Snape's face at who stood opposite him, and then a blue curse shot from his wand.

Slytherin gave no reaction and calmly stood in place as the spell flew his way. The curse struck but didn't dissipate upon hitting Slytherin. Instead, it morphed into a thin layer of blue magic and formed a translucent shell around the man's body. Slytherin cocked his head towards his foe, raised a single eyebrow, and then looked down at himself. With a casual gesture, Salazar wiped at the spell clinging to his robes. Like dust, the blue magic fell from him and disappeared into the blackness. Without looking up he replied, "What to do, indeed."

Snape readied his wand for another attack, but suddenly he couldn't move his arm. Slowly, a compulsion spread through his body, commanding his mind and muscles to respond to signals he hadn't issued. He stared mortified as he struggled with his suddenly alien, wand-wielding arm. He watched as his hand dropped the wand, as his fingers curled into a fist, and as his traitorous limb used that fist – his fist – to punch himself dead in the eye.

Not a man accustomed to physical violence, it took Snape some time to recover. In fact, he spent the next few moments doubled over and stumbling in and out of the circumference of the spotlight whilst holding his eye. His body, naturally, had been fully returned to obeying the commands he gave.

Finished with his mini-tantrum, Snape looked up to see Salazar Slytherin staring with a slight hint of amusement on his face. The founder winked and said, "Good times."

"Who are you?" Snape growled.

A wry smile spread across Salazar's face. "Haven't you heard? Why, I'm the original: the Defector, the Other Founding Father, the Prince of Parseltongue…" Slytherin reached into the pocket of his robes but drew his hand out with nothing in it. When Snape looked past the empty hand to Slytherin for an explanation, he saw that the once sarcastic smile had been replaced with a hard glare. "Would you like to see my Dark Lord Decoder Ring?" Slytherin finished.

Somewhere from outside of the place of this interaction the sound of Harry Potter snickering could be heard. Snape looked upwards in response to the sound, but Slytherin maintained his stern stare at the Death Eater.

"Salazar Slytherin?" Snape said, not believing the words coming out of his mouth.

"My friends call me Sal. You can call me judgment," Slytherin ordered.

Snape's face went white for a moment, but a look of resolve quickly replaced it. "How long do you think you can maintain this parlor trick, Potter," he seethed. "Eventually, I will…" His words were interrupted by his fist running into his mouth – hard.

Another bout of doubled over, face covered, stumbling ensued.

"Listen, Sev, I'm going to call you Sev," Slytherin said matter-of-factly, "we can do this one way — my way. You're welcome to continue the argument with your fist later if you want, but while we're on Salazar time you **will **shut up and suffer your judgment like the proper coward you are."

It's been said before: Severus Snape was always a rational man — a scholar he would have told you. He shut up.

Salazar aimed the pointer fingers on both hands at Snape, and then made two mock gunfire noises as he "shot" the man. Snape felt his clothes suddenly tear away and disappear into the blackness. He looked down at himself with trepidation but saw that his black robes had somehow been replaced by a simple brown cloth that hung over the length of his body. There was a hood attached to the cloth, and it was currently pulled overtop of his head.

Snape looked up with a mixture of surprise and anger only to see that Slytherin was standing across from him in a similar outfit.

"You must hold to this path if you wish to escape from this savage place." Slytherin intoned, his voice once again booming and seeming to come from everywhere all at once.

Without another word and not sparing a glimpse back to see that Snape followed, Slytherin walked into the darkness. With each step a new small light on the ground to each side of Slytherin began to light the path ahead of him.

Uninterested in playing Potter's game, Snape stood defiantly and watched the man walk away. That was until the spotlight shining on him suddenly went out and the lights highlighting the path between him and his departing guide began to fade. Left with the choice of being stuck alone in the dark once again or following, Snape reluctantly started after the man claiming to be Salazar Slytherin.

He caught up with Slytherin after what seemed like a much longer time than it should have taken to do so. Like a dream where his body just couldn't move fast enough to fight back, or run away, or chase after, or keep up… But Severus Snape wasn't dreaming, which made the fact he was experiencing this "moving through molasses" moment from within the confines of Potter's head all the more disturbing.

Slytherin stopped suddenly, and Snape found that they'd arrived upon a waist high door standing alone in the middle of the empty darkness. Snape was both certain that the door had definitely not been there just a moment ago and that it was by far the most ridiculous invention he'd ever come across.

Squared on each side and rounded on top, the aperture stood waist high and was seemingly unconnected to any sort of structure. It simply stood alone in the darkness. It was covered in bright red leather that was padded beneath to make the fabric bubble away from the frame beneath. A yellow handle made of shiny plastic stood in sharp contrast from the deep red surroundings. Letters of varying colors, cut from construction paper and pinned individually into the leather, fashioned a message at the top center of the door. The message read:

ABANDON EVERY HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE

"What is the meaning of all this?" Snape said, though his tone lacked the confident conviction he'd intended.

"I told you Snape – judgment," Slytherin replied and then motioned to the door.

Snape made no movement to comply, but shortly after found himself once again compelled to comply by the founder's hold over him. The first thing Snape felt as the door opened was an intense heat pushing against his face. It was the kind of heat that makes you check your eyebrows to be sure they haven't been singed away. Forehead fur confirmed, the next thing he noticed was the source of it all.

The world beyond the gate was Hell, and that was the simplest way to describe it: fire, brimstone, echoing wails of torment, sulfur-scented air, the whole nine yards. And the horrors that befell his eyes were only outdone by the infinite vastness of the realm.

Snape shuddered and couldn't prevent himself from trying to retreat back out of the door; an effort was thwarted by the solid and unmoving body of Slytherin. "I shall be your guide, Severus Snape. The time of reckoning for all that you have wrought is upon you."

Composure was only a memory of something Snape once possessed, and panic filled him as he spoke. "This is not possible. You are not real. I, I am **not** dead!"

"In this place, you are whatever I desire you to be. I am judgment without mercy, and you shall be subjugated to my rule." Slytherin stared with rigid posture and unforgiving eyes upon the man before him. He watched and waited for the physical response of Snape's fear to fully manifest. And only moments after it did, did he again speak, "I'm just having you on old boy!" Salazar said with a smile and a relaxed pose, but then let the smile fall completely from his face. "No. I'm simply going to show you all the different ways you might burn for your life's deeds." Cuffing the man on the shoulder hard enough that Snape heard a few pops in his neck Salazar said, "Come on then, lot's to see."

Snape had no intention of complying, but his arm suddenly and quite involuntarily reached behind him and grasped the collar of his cloth garment, jerking him into a direction following the founder. It didn't let go until Snape had caught up with his guide.

They walked for some time over cracked, blackened ground, and eventually Snape gathered the courage to take in the horrors of the world cast upon him. He looked down and noticed within the shading of the rock beneath his feet were images of faces frozen in torment. He looked up at the red-gray sky and saw balls of fire raining down onto the land in the distance. When he finally looked ahead to where they traveled, he saw that the ground was moving and realized it was a flowing river of boiling tar that awaited their arrival.

Suddenly a piercing whistle erupted at his side and shook Snape from his terrified gazing. He looked over and saw the sound was coming from Slytherin, who was blowing hard onto two fingers in his mouth. There was a sound in the distance, not quite a genuine barking sound, but more like a bad impersonation of one. Snape searched until he saw the figure behind the sound, it was hunched over and running awkwardly towards them, using its hands and feet like an animal.

The creature was upon them soon enough, and Snape couldn't prevent a gasp when he finally realized what he was seeing. Pale skin, red eyes, slits for a nose, thin sinuous lips…a dangling tongue…drool…panting! The image before him was undoubtedly that of the Dark Lord! But this creature was somehow more perverted, and that was without taking into account it was behaving like a dog.

The animal paid Snape no mind as it bounced excitedly around its master. Slytherin gestured commands at the being until it calmed and sat before him. "Good boy!" he praised. He patted the man-dog on the head and then conjured a leash and collar, which he placed around its neck. He looked over to Snape. "Sev, I'd like you to meet Lord Voldemort."

The Death Eater was completely floored. He stood mouth agape and eyes bulging, trying to figure out if he should bow, laugh, or look away in shame. He settled on a combination of the three, which resulted in an awkward set of sounds and movements that left a cramp in his neck and made his left eye twitch.

The Voldemutt looked up from its master and over at the quasi-epileptic Snape. It let loose a low growl and bared its teeth at the wizard, which froze the man in his place.

"Voldemort, no!" Slytherin commanded.

The Dark Lord on a Leash winced at the reprimand and then walked on all fours to Snape. It let off a shorter, quieter growl as it approached but then circled around the wizard and sniffed deeply at the man's haunches. Snape's instincts told him to flinch away, but reason told him that a quick movement might only serve to provoke the animal. It left his eyebrows as the only feasible outlet for releasing his anxiety, and they took this opportunity to shoot for the highest region on his forehead. With the accompanying wide eyes that result from such a reaction Snape stood – a Dark Lord's nose planted in his ass – and stared with disbelief at Slytherin.

Slytherin mocked the role of 'the embarrassed owner.' "Voldemort you get out of there," he said with little conviction. "That's just no way for a Dark Lord to greet his servant."

The Dark Lord complied and returned to his master's side. With a look back at Snape the seated Voldemort barked, "_Mudblood_!"

"That's right Voldemort, Sev is a mixed blood! And apparently his hypocrisy goes just as far as your own. But what have I told you about using those slurs?" Slytherin snapped the creature on the nose, and it recoiled from the blow. "My apologies," he said, looking back to Snape. "Unfortunately, there's little to be done. He came this way from the previous owner."

"What sort of abomination is this?"

"Why it's a Horcrux of course. Riddle left him here while he was being destroyed by baby Harry."

"A Horcrux?"

"Oh, don't tell me you've never heard of Horcuxes. They're all the rage with the Dark Lords these days. What you do is you take a little piece of your soul, rip it from your body by way of ritualistic murder, and then store it away somewhere for safekeeping," Slytherin answered.

"…such that the owner of the soul would retain an anchor to this realm should he ever die," Snape deduced.

Slytherin tapped his temple and then pointed to Snape with a nod. "This one here is one of seven. I think that goes a long way towards explaining his…behavior."

"The Dark Lord placed a portion of his soul into Potter's head?" Snape said with incredulity.

"Well not on purpose, of course. But when one finds oneself being unexpectedly expelled from the mortal plane, one finds the proper placement of one's recently removed soul fragment to not be a priority. My associate here managed to find a way all on his own into Harry's head."

Snape fell into silence as he took to considering the many implications of this new information. His silent contemplation was abruptly interrupted by his fist running into his face again.

"Don't waste time trying to figure the angles, Sev. You'll never have the opportunity to use any of it," Slytherin said as he watched the man recover from hitting himself. "Come on, there's still so much more to see."

Slytherin led the group until they reached the river of boiling tar where a boat and ferryman awaited. "This river separates those who are judged from those who…are not judged." Salazar said in an officious tone. "You are cast into this place so that you might glimpse into what awaits."

Snape's worried look returned. "What is it called?"

Salazar glanced over to Snape with an annoyed look but quickly turned his gaze back to the river. "It is called…The Brook of Boiling Blackness." He appeared pleased with himself upon formulating that name.

Snape looked onto the pallid and skeletal figure dressed in a garb of thinning, aged, black cloth that draped from his body like old rags. The ferryman held a knotted, sinewy black stick that extended several body lengths behind the boat and into the flowing tar beneath. He stared at Snape with empty black orbs, and Snape found he could not maintain his gaze back at the man. In a nervous tone he asked Slytherin, "And what is he called?"

"The guy who's driving the fucking boat," Slytherin snapped. "Now stop asking so many questions and get in."

Snape quickly complied, and soon they were being ferried across the river by their nameless, speechless, skeletal captain. Silent minutes passed during which Snape decided he'd rather suffer the uncomfortable anxiety of not knowing what was to come rather than face the risk of upsetting his guide any further.

But this eerie silence was interrupted by a slowly growing chorus of moans seemingly coming from the river beneath them. Snape shivered and quickly looked to Slytherin for an explanation, but he didn't get so much as a blink of an eye from the founder. The moans continued, growing louder, and Snape looked to the boiling tar. He watched as large bubbles slowly formed on the surface. When he examined them more closely, he realized the moans were being released as those bubbles burst.

"The cries of lost souls crossing over to the abyss," Slytherin said in explanation. "For the first circle of the hell that awaits, Severus, is reserved for Those Who Would Not Commit."

"Commit? Commit to what?"

"In every lifetime there exists opposing forces; in fact, there are usually several. But for all the opportunities to choose, there always remains those who do not. There are those who find it in their best interest to hide in the wake and wait until one side avails," Slytherin answered.

"_Cowards!_" the Voldecrux barked.

Slytherin pet his doglike counterpart on the head. "That's right boy. The first circle of hell, Sev, is reserved for the cowards who didn't have the testicular fortitude to pick a side."

The boat came to an abrupt stop. "First floor: perdition, eternal storms of hellfire, and endless conversations with Gilderoy Lockhart," Slytherin announced.

Snape crawled out from the craft. "Lockhart, what would he be doing here," though he noticed after asking the question that it wasn't so much a singular version, as much as there was at least one Lockhart per tortured soul in this place.

"Not my version of hell. These things come custom-fitted for the offender, played in this scenario by you. If I had to guess, Lockhart is simply the biggest douche bag of your age." Slytherin covered his mouth and nose with a single hand as he dramatically shook his head with disgust at what he saw. "And what a fine impersonation of a feminine product he is."

"Are you trying to convince me that this is the fate that awaits me at death?" Severus said with contempt.

"Shoe fits…"

"I am not a coward!" Snape snapped.

The canine Voldemort walked over to Snape and sniffed the front of the wizard's leg. "_Coward_!" he barked as an affirmation.

"I don't know, Sev. That dog's got a nose for these things, and I'm not just saying that. Seriously, look at its nose: Those slits can sniff a coward from twenty paces!"

Snape's face hardened, and rage boiled in his eyes. He opened his mouth to argue, but Slytherin cut him off.

"Alright, I won't waste my time arguing it with you," he conceded. "But this next circle, this one's got you, with a capital Y, O, U written all over it!" Salazar snapped his fingers and instantly everything went black.

Snape once again felt as if he was lost in space without a sense of direction or a sense of his own body. This lasted just long enough for the former potions master to revert back to grasping vainly into the void.

"_The second circle, Severus,_" a whispered voice filled the abyss. "_Left for those who sow deceit._"

"I will not participate in this charade," Snape announced.

"_You will if you wish to escape this place. Yes, salvation may only be achieved through participation." _

"A likely scenario."

"_Scenarios do not exist in this place, Severus. Only infinite emptiness, suffering, and death. Surely you do not want to suffer this eternally." _

"Better to suffer alone than continue playing into the machinations of a long-dead Hogwarts founder conjured by the broken mind of an insane schoolboy," Snape replied.

"_I have freed you from his hold so that you can free yourself. But I can only conceal you from him for so long. There is escape. I can show you the way, but it is up to you to seize this opportunity!" _The tone of this whisper carried a distinctly different sound than the previous. It was somehow more familiar.

The words gave Snape pause. But he refused to allow himself to be so easily tricked. "Show yourself!" It wasn't so much the appearance of his would-be rescuer that he was concerned with as it was that seeing another presence might provide him a sense place and direction in the blackness.

Almost immediately he saw a dull grey light in the distance. It grew in size; but without perspective, Snape couldn't tell if that meant it was coming closer or simply growing larger before him. Eventually the silhouette of a figure could be seen through the light and a moment later the figure of Albus Dumbledore stood before him.

"My old friend, what cruel twist of fate has brought you to this place?" Albus asked.

Well, Snape had thought the appearance of his would-be rescuer wouldn't concern him. He realized now he was wrong. "Dumbledore…"

"It is I, Severus. But we haven't much time. This place is for the dead, and by all accords it is plain to see you have not yet come to that point in your destiny."

Snape reached out and touched the shoulder of the being across from him. His hand landed on solid mass, and he instantly felt awkward. It was a gesture that never would have occurred between the two men in life. "I'm sorry," he said as he pulled his hand away.

"There is no need. Come, I will show you the way."

Snape didn't argue and quickly fell into step with the deceased wizard. They walked in silence, and the former professor found that he couldn't stop himself steeling glances at the man next to him – the man he'd killed. "Headmast…Dumbledore, I – I wish to…apologize for my actions."

Dumbledore maintained a determined look at the path ahead of him as he continued marching forward. "I understand why you did it, Severus."

"You do?" Snape asked incredulously.

"Of course, and I do not carry grudges into the afterlife. I find no call to allow earthly transgressions to burden me into the beyond. We all must make decisions, and you made yours."

Snape simply could not find the words to respond. It didn't matter because he soon realized they were approaching a door that looked very much like the one he'd entered the outer realm of hell through. The guilt was quickly dissipated, replaced by the hope that he would finally be free of this nightmare.

Dumbledore stopped in front of the door. "This is your way out, Severus."

"You are not coming?"

"Of course not, as you are most aware, I am dead."

Snape saw the familiar twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes, but it didn't convey the calm confidence it usually did. This twinkle was more … mischievous.

"Come now, Sev, time to go," Dumbledore said as he stepped to the side of the door and positioned Snape into his place by grasping his shoulders.

"Sev…" Snape questioned as he was moved. He looked back once more to Dumbledore who nodded back at him that it was okay to go.

Bending over, he grabbed onto the handle and pushed the door open. The blast of heat that struck his face was so intense he felt his knees buckle. Desperately, he tried to push away but suddenly there was something behind him holding him in place! Looking back he expected to see Dumbledore; instead he saw an identical version of himself, cackling manically, and with the base of its foot pushing firmly against his ass!

"What! Who are you?" Snape grunted as he struggled against the twin version of himself. He managed to obtain a grasp onto the frame of the door, but instantly had his hand stomped on by yet another cackling version of himself that suddenly appeared. "Stop!" Snape pleaded. But neither version of the animatedly psychotic Snape twins paid attention.

His struggle was ultimately useless. Without proper leverage or anything to maintain hold of, he was forced face first through the doorway and into the burning pit of fire beneath him on the other side of the portal. He fell in and instantly began to flail against the agonizing flames as violently as he could. The pain was excruciating, and all his mind could contemplate was when the mercy of death would take him.

But it never came. Instead, it all disappeared, and the empty void of blackness returned once again.

"_The second circle. For those to suffer betrayal eternally, left for traitors, left for you Sev," _a voice whispered into the air.

Snape screamed and cowered into the empty space, trying to hide from everything all at once.

Slytherin appeared from the black and looked down at the whimpering man, "Alright, let's not be too overdramatic now."

"Please! Please stop this!" Snape stammered. "I can't take anymore of this place. Kill me, anything…anything other than this place."

"Kill you?" Salazar repeated incredulously. "You tit – don't you get it? This is what's waiting for you once you're dead."

"It's too terrible," Snape cried.

"It's sodding hell, what did you expect?"

"Then tell me what I must do to atone," Snape pleaded. "I will do anything!"

Slytherin looked at the broken man pensively for a long moment. "Nope, I don't do atonement; that's more Gryffindor's specialty. But maybe he'll be in the next head you get trapped in!"

Snape pulled his knees to his chest and stared past Slytherin as the continued fear of torment overtook him. Salazar sighed and grabbed the wizard by his collar, yanking him to his feet. He said, "Come on, Sev, chin up. You and me, together, we'll see you through this. After all, you're **a** Slytherin. I _am _Slytherin; blokes like us got to stick together in a place like this!"

Snape only offered the man a manic stare brimming with disbelief as a response. Eventually he calmed and was able to regain composure. "Why?" he asked dejectedly. "Why, if I'm not dead must I suffer this torment?"

"The second circle," Salazar said as a point of fact, "well, it's not as if it's the easiest place to describe. And I just didn't think showing you how another traitor like yourself was duped into throwing himself into an eternal pit of hell fire was going to properly convey the anguish in it all."

Snape trembled.

"Oh, come off of it, you were only engulfed in flames for a minute or so!" Slytherin watched as the look on Snape's face teetered between unfettered rage and inconsolable madness, which is a tough image for one to maintain their composure while in witness of. Biting back his laughter, Slytherin spoke in an even tone, "Tighten up your corset, Suzy, there's still one more place you need to see." At that Slytherin walked into the darkness and disappeared.

The blood exited from Snape's face about as quickly as the realm of hell flashed back into place around him. Back was the smell of sulfur, the raining balls of fire on the horizon, the tormented wails of agony, and the cracked, hardened, black ground. Snape took it all in, and with every bit of recognition he fell farther into despair. His psyche retreated into itself in an attempt to cope.

The growl of a Voldemutt disrupted his abundant morosity, "Murrrderrrerrr."

Snape looked up to see the creature baring its teeth, growling, and making an overall show of its unfavorable disposition. Not knowing what else to do the wizard backed away from the beast.

"Murrrrderrrrerrrr!" it repeated louder, drool falling from its mouth.

"What do you want from me?" Snape pleaded.

The perverted form of Voldemort extended one hand forward from the ground and pointed a finger at the Death Eater. "Yourrrr Soouuulll!"

Snape watched as Voldemort put its hand back on the ground and positioned itself so that it could pounce onto him.

A burnt shoe flew past Snape, nearly clipping his ear as it zipped by from behind his head, and struck the creature square in the face. "Git out a here ya unfortunately placed soul defect!" a voice yelled.

There was a loud whelp from the Dark Lord and then it ran away whimpering. Snape waited until he has sure Voldemort wasn't going to return before he turned to find out who had helped him.

"I'm Rick," the man said flatly and extended his hand, though he was watching Voldemort run away and not looking at Snape as he did so.

Snape didn't take the proffered appendage, and that was the best way to describe the object held before him. Hands usually come with more than one finger, sometimes even a thumb, but even more, all of the hands Snape had met throughout his life came equipped with skin.

Such was not the case with Rick. And as Snape was quickly discovering, Rick's one fingered, skinless, severely burnt and crusty blooded stump of a hand was a remarkably representative sample of the overall calamity that composed Rick. Not that the man did much to conceal his plight with the tattered khaki shorts and rag of a Hawaiian button-down, short-sleeve shirt he wore.

Rick looked over at Snape from behind black sunglasses that hung crooked on his face on account of a missing left ear, and saw that the wizard was not going to return his stump shake. The rebuke didn't seem to bother him. "Pleasure ta meet ya, Snap-o."

"It is?" Snape said, because it was the most coherent thought his brain could form.

"Well hell ya!" Rick replied. His accent was typically American, and the drawl seemed more pronounced as he spoke with greater excitement. "Shit, ta meet a feller t'aint come round to rip my face off – 'gain – nor ta boil ma skin, or pluck ma fingers…eat ma ears…rip off my bal – well, you get the point."

"I see," Snape replied. He really didn't, nor did he want to, but his brain was still not operating at a premium.

"Now don't git me wrong, Snap-a-roo. I've seen a steamin' cowpie with more appeal than a feller like you. But when belly's bumpin' back bone, a starvin man can't be picky." Rick smiled and Snape got a view of the rotting mass of flesh that was the inside of the man's mouth.

"What are you?" Snape asked.

"T'aint exactly small talk, but seeing as you're new ''round these parts, I guess that's alright. Snape, the Rickster is a man just like you."

Snape looked the man up and down. "Perhaps not – _just – _like me."

"Only difference is I've been cookin' in the sauce a bit longer. We're more 'like than you'd care ta admit."

"Is that so?"

"Well, I'm a guess you're no stranger to snuffing a man."

"Snuffing?"

"Yup, probably women too."

"I'm certain I have no idea what you are talking about." Snape snapped.

"You know what I'm talkin' bout: givin 'em a dirtnap, the hard goodbye, the permanent pink slip…an order of the Kenny McCormick Special…Avada Cadavered if ya care for it in wizardin' terms…"

Snape offered no sign that he was following.

"Damnit, Snape, I got ta say this is disappointing as hell. And in case you _haven't_ noticed I am a bona fide connoisseur in all the variations of disappointment hell has got ta offer, son!"

"I might offer an apology had I even the slightest clue what it is you are babbling about."

"I'm talkin' 'bout murder, sir! You are a killer. And certainly not the type who goes round helpin' move along them terminally ill or bed soilin' elderly neither. Now Snapester, I don't know you from a sack a demon balls, but one thing's fer certain, if you're here, you've taken the life of another, and not in no way that he was requestin' it."

"I am not dead," Snape barked. "Under no uncertain terms do I belong here at all!"

"Hoooee! Look who's done gone and grown a pair. You got spirit Snape. I like that! Unfortunately for you, it's just that bit o' pep 'at'll bring out the nasties 'round here." Rick leaned in towards Snape and cuffed his hand over his mouth so he was talking into the wizard's ear. "Little bastards, well, they get their jollies off by takin' the bark out'ta the dog."

Rick stopped suddenly and looked into the distance. His hand dropped and he stood straight as he pulled at the tattered and bloodstained flowery Hawaiian shirt so it sat more properly over his body. "Nope, Severoo, the minions in these parts like their cattle dead behind the eyes, but burnt, boiled, beaten, and bloody everywhere else."

In the distance Snape heard what sounded like a pack of cackling creatures, and instantly he was struck with fear. But it wasn't caused by the screeching, or the throaty gurgle behind it, nor was it the terrible clacking sound of steely claws scraping against hard, blackened ground. It was the sounds of agony screaming at him from within, filling his mind with horror he couldn't come to terms with. It was the worst sound he'd ever heard, worse than the sound of his own cries as he burned in hell fire; and it was getting louder.

Snape stared at the growing mass of movement sprinting towards him. His heart began to pound in his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes. His body grew cold, and sweat covered his palms. Slowly, the details of the individual creatures bearing down on him became visible; and their appearance was perhaps the only thing worse than their sound.

"Hot damn, boy! You look more terrified than a virgin on Prom night," Rick said with a slap of his knee.

Snape didn't look over at the man. He couldn't. The sounds filling his head and the terror it invoked inside him were too great.

"What's the matter, Sev, afraid the little demons are going to make you look like me?"

There was a different sound to the voice. The accent was gone, and the tone was clipped and harsh. Somewhere on the periphery of his senses Snape noticed this — just not enough for it to register a response from him.

The man waved his hand in front of Snape's face, but he couldn't pry his stare away from the approaching pack of demons. Finally, holding his hand in front of the wizard's face, he snapped his fingers.

Instantly the stampeding demons were gone, along the charred black ground, the raining hellfire and smell of sulfur in the air. No Hell, no Rick, everything; gone. All that was left was the infinite blackness and two spotlighted circles: one featuring a whimpering Snape and the other Salazar Slytherin.

Snape exhaled loudly as the horrors that filled his mind were suddenly gone. His senses returned, and he found that he was trembling fiercely and hyperventilating. His brain struggled with his body to regain control, and the outcome resulted in him orally projecting his previous meal down the front of his robes.

"Not that looking like me would be such a bad thing," Slytherin followed up. "In fact, I'd say the demons would be doing you a favor was that the case."

Snape didn't have to see the man to confirm it was Slytherin who stood next to him. Yet look he did, and upon seeing the harsh gaze of the Hogwart's founder who had put him through hell a fury began to build within him. The acrid smell of his own vomit and sweat fueled his madness. Logic and reason had long since been forgotten. All that was left was fury and the undeniable need to release it upon his captor. Staring back at Slytherin, Snape gnashed his teeth and then clinched his fists so tight his nails drew blood from his palms.

Slytherin didn't offer as much as a flinch at the behavior. In a calm, but cold tone he said, "But we aren't here to do you any favors. Isn't that right, Snape?"

The carelessness behind the comment was the last straw. Snape couldn't bring himself to care about consequences. They would unquestionably pale in comparison to what he had already suffered. A scream started from deep within his stomach, but by the time it escaped past his mouth he was already launching himself at the founder.

He dove straight through the image of Slytherin without feeling so much as a change in the air against his skin. His momentum sent him flying off balance, and he landed hard on the ground beyond. Blinded by rage, he jumped back onto his feet and once again charged at the man. He tried to grasp Slytherin's neck between his hands, but he felt only his own hands as they collided after passing through the man again. Snape screamed with fury, spit foaming through his still gnashed teeth. With no other options apparent, he began to swing wildly at the intangible person before him.

Salazar cocked his head to one side as he took in rabid man's useless assault. He smiled, not with amusement, but more with an expression of contempt. Slowly he raised both of his hands between him and Snape and pushed the wizard away from him. The action sent Snape hurtling through the air.

The Death Eater's momentum was stopped abruptly by the same tree that had serviced Harry in his earlier duel with the boy. By the time Snape regained his senses, the surrounding landscape had changed back to the clearing in the middle of the woods where he had waited for Harry with Hermione. A look of shock drew over his face as he scanned the landscape. It was twilight once again; he could see the green of the trees, the grass, the campfire, and the log lying next to it. Eventually he came to the point where Harry and Slytherin were standing, staring back at him.

Harry looked over to Slytherin. "You're one twisted…sick…and _angry_, little Hogwart's founder, sir."

Slytherin didn't look back at Harry. He kept a cold stare locked onto Snape as he replied, "You don't know the half, Harry. That was just the "show," now it's time to move on with the "tell."

"Potter!" Snape snarled. It was another target, something else to rage against for his suffering. He began to push himself up from the tree, but Slytherin extended his hand and suddenly Snape couldn't move.

"Stay," Harry said and then stared Snape down as the man struggled ineffectively against the power that held him in place. Harry turned to Slytherin, "So, still in my head then?"

"Still in your head."

"Hermione?"

"Sitting next to your body on the outside, playing the part of Ophelia."

"Fair enough," Harry said and then turned his attention back to Snape.

"Our time has come to an end here," Salazar stated. "But before you go, I'm going to tell you why you're going to wish I'd let you stay. You are a contemptible little man, Severus Snape. You've spent your entire life hiding from people; hiding your feelings, hiding your insecurities, hiding your traitorous intents … hiding your secrets. Well, from now on, you've got nothing to hide."

Harry looked between Snape and Salazar, neither of which broke their stare with each other. "So…you cured him of being an asshole?" he asked doubtfully.

Slytherin smiled, this time with amusement, and then broke his stare with his victim. Turning to Harry he said, "No. Unfortunately, there are some conditions that even I can't fix."

"What have you done to me?" Snape's barely audible voice cracked and gave as he spoke.

"Yeah, what did you do to him?" Harry's voice was clear, inquisitive, and it held a hint of excitement.

"What's the opposite of Legilimency, Harry?" Slytherin asked.

"Occlumency."

"Wrong! It's…well, I don't know what it's called exactly, but it's what our friend here has to look forward to for the rest of his life."

"I'm confused…wait, no…yes, I'm confused."

Slytherin walked over next to Snape, leaned in, and began whispering into the man's ear. With each word Snape's eyes grew wider, and then he began to tremble. When he couldn't bear it any longer, he slammed his eyes shut as hard as he could.

The founder backed away from Snape, "…for as long as you live," he said loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry took it all in with disbelief. His eyes froze on Snape when the man opened his eyes, and he saw they were filled with tears. "What the fuck did you do to him?"

Slytherin's disposition changed as he walked back to Harry, he smiled once more and had a self-satisfied look on his face. "You know I _really_ don't know what to call it. I'm kind of wishing I'd put more thought into that part. Snape is the first ever…Thought Billboard." He paused and thought, "…or, he's now suffering from a case of involuntary notion expulsion." Slytherin looked at Harry who offered no sign he was following, "No? "Okay, how about Snape's head is like a beach, and everyone gets to surf his brain waves?"

"Are you sure he's the only one who came out off from that imaginary field trip to hell?"

Slytherin eyed Harry with an impatient glare.

"I'm just saying, you're looking a little more frayed around the edges than usual."

"You like having The Severus stuck in your head? Is that it?"

Harry raised his hands in surrender, "Alright!" He looked over at Snape, then back to Salazar, "The opposite of Legilimency?" he asked, though it was posed as more of a statement. It clicked, and Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head with astonishment. "Are you telling me from now on he's actually projecting his thoughts to anyone around him?"

Slytherin cocked a half-smile. "You're impressed. Admit it! Who's your favorite founder?"

"Is that even possible? I mean, I know you had him trapped in my head for what seemed like forever, but still. How?"

"I give you a three-course serving of my own secret Hell recipe. I give you the torture and utter destruction of the man soon to be formerly known as Severus Snape. And you want to know how I turned his brain inside out? I discovered mind magics, Potter. Suffice it to say there were certain findings that never made into the research notes your modern day textbooks are based on."

Harry shook his head and took a moment to blink his eyes. "It's cruel, and wrong, and so…_vindictive_!" Harry beamed a smile at the founder and then walked over to the man and shook his hand. "It may be the most fitting punishment ever delivered in the history of comeuppance!" Harry looked over to Snape. "Wow! You are really fucked!" Then he looked back to Salazar, still shaking his hand, "He's really fucked!"

"Fucked, a lot," Slytherin responded.

Harry released the founder's hand and turned towards Snape. "It's not like you can go back to Voldemort now, what with all the lies and secrets you're inevitably keeping from him. And you can't go to the ministry or back to Hogwarts, because they might actually do worse to you than Voldemort!"

Without looking back to Slytherin Harry said, "And you're telling me this is permanent. His thoughts are projected to anyone he comes near?"

"Yup," Slytherin answered.

"So say I was to get in a duel with him, would I know what spell he was planning to use as soon as he did?"

"Yup."

"And if he were to approach me, I'd know what his intentions were?"

"You got it."

"And we're talking about the Severus Snape in the real world, not just the one currently stuck here in my head? Brain re-wired. Permanently set to memory-out."

"Correct in one, sir."

"For the rest of his life?"

"Which I imagine won't last for very long."

**Closing notes: **I owe some credits at this point. Obviously there is a passage quoted from OOTP so…JKR citation, citation, citation… Obviously Dante get's a nod for being all Divine about his Comedy.

Farscape. One nod for Farscape, and many cool points to any individual who read this chapter and said, "That motherfucker is trying to steal some cool by making the Horocrux in Harry's head act like a blithering dog (the Voldemutt) just like Scorpious in that episode on Farscape!" Yup, you got me.

If you haven't seen Farscape you should, second best Sci-Fi show ever.

Bonus Omagic Top 5 Sci-Fi list:

1. Firefly

2. Farscape

3. SG-1

4. BSG (seasons 1 and 2 only)

5. Star Trek TNG

Honorable mentions for not quite being sci-fi but if they were would otherwise be numbers 4 and 5 to Angel and Buffy

I won't say that I didn't like this chapter, I might on a bad day say I didn't like writing this chapter. Let's just say, it's my least favorite. Do with that what you will as you consider your review (and I know you're reviewing).


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